


Love Will Fall Like Rain

by madeofmydreams



Category: Good Luck Chuck, Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cursed!Jim, Depression, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Off screen non-con in chapter 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4496340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeofmydreams/pseuds/madeofmydreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk was cursed Junior year of high school; everyone he kisses finds their true love soon after leaving him. He's 25 and been having a string of the worst luck imaginable, but that doesn't mean the hex was real does it?</p><p>Spock is the perfect Defense Secretary's son studying to be a lawyer and locking most of his thoughts away when he injures himself and finds that it's sometimes harder to prevent a friendship from forming than it is to make the effort to care for another person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seven Minutes In ?

2005

Jim Kirk sat with everyone else in a large circle in Kim's bonus room as if they were in kindergarten instead of celebrating her 15th birthday. From his vantage point he could see the freshly emptied closet and the pile of Christmas decorations on the floor. He wasn't too keen on this kind of party but Hikaru would not shut up about how hot Kim is and how they absolutely had to attend her unchaperoned event. Jim gave in and refrained from letting his friend know that he'd noticed Hikaru looking at Gary a whole lot more frequently than Kim. His classmates seemed surprisingly unconcerned with the suggested activity and Jim took a deep breath reminding himself, “They're bluffing, no-one in high school actually has any confidence.”

Kim's best friend Beth paraded into the room triumphantly, a green glass bottle in one hand.“Found one in the recycle,” she called, “This will be better than trying to play with a coke bottle.” She gestured to the plastic 20 oz bottle Janice Rand, the junior class president, had produced 10 minutes ago to start the festivities. 

Jim leaned over to Hikaru. “People really play this game? It's not just something done in the movies?”

“Please be cool,” Hikaru hissed. “Do not let on that you don't know what you're doing in there.”

“Of course I know what I'm doing.”

“Oh so you stopped being a tease sometime between last Friday and now?”

Jim punched him.

“Ow. That was uncalled for,” Hikaru said, rubbing his arm.

“I'm not pointing out your flaws now am I?” Jim asked.

Hikaru looked down and muttered something that could have been 'sorry,' but it also could have been 'son of a'.

Jim looked around the circle. Kim wouldn't be too bad for a first kiss, nether would Beth honestly, and if he got Hikaru they could they could just pretend. That only left 12 others in the circle to worry about. Really though it was probably about time. Jim rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans.

Kim spun first in honor of her birthday, and took a grinning Gary to the closet with her. 

Janice pulled out her phone and set a timer. "You get exactly seven minutes" she called. When she looked up from her phone and spotted Jim looking at her she smirked at him, her eyes roaming down and up. 

Jim shivered and decided that Janice would be his least favorite option. He'd seen the way she runs student Council meetings and could imagine what a highly regulated first kiss that would be. Shaking that thought away he leaned back over to his best friend. "Sorry it wasn't you," he said meaning Gary and implying Kim.

"She'll still be there when I spin," he replied. 

"So how much time do they have left, Miss President?" Jim asked.

She lowered her gaze only momentarily. "3 minutes and... 27 seconds." 

"So, like when they come out, do we move on to Beth or umm..." Abigail trailed off. 

"The kiss-ee chooses the next kiss-er, only they must select from those who have not yet been in the closet," Janice explained for the third time, looking right at Jim. 

Janice's phone buzzed. Beth hollered for the couple to exit the closet. Kim and Gary emerged to cat calls and giggles. 

"So who is the first half of our next lucky couple?" Janice asked. 

"I'm a go with... Brian," Gary said, forming his right hand into a gun and shooting across the circle. 

The next four rounds seemed to fly as time dragged on. Jim found himself contemplating the oxymoron when he became distinctly aware of Janice Rand's perfectly manicured fingers grasping the green bottle. She twisted the bottle, her pale wrist bending as if the bottle itself were alive, then let it fly spinning round and round on the hardwood floor. Jim’s eyes followed the bottle, his breath caught somewhere in his chest as he focused completely on it’s slowing rotations. When it finally stilled the neck of the bottle stared him down like a canon.

“You can do this,” he told himself.

He must have said it aloud, because Hikaru leaned over and nudged him. Under the cover of a provocative comment he murmured, “It’ll be great, don’t worry. You’re good at convincing people to let their hair down.”

Jim gave him an unconvincing laugh. Janice’s hair was already down and curling a bit around her shoulders. It was the first time Jim remembered seeing it like that. He tried recalling the first time they’d been introduced and briefly every encounter since. Janice always kept her hair in a bun. 

His legs moved to bear his weight and carry him toward the closet. The doors slid shut around them. The small space between them seemed too close and too far. Jim wondered if his entire life had become a contradiction, as well as why anyone would purchase high heels that were quite that pink. 

Her shoes were tall enough to make them similar in height. Jim stepped forward, looking anywhere but at the eyes she trained on him. He brought his hand to her cheek, then slid it around to the back of her neck before tentatively pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth. 

A moment later his back was against the wall. Her hand up his shirt. Her tongue brushing the seam of his lips. 

“I’ve been wanting this for,” she panted. 

He ducked his head. “Wait,” he gasped.

“What?”

He thought she looked in complete control. He looked down at his own sweaty palms and rubbed them against his jeans. “It’s a little sudden. I…” He looked up again into her cool blue eyes. “We’ve only just met.”

“I’ve known you three years,” she said, her eyebrows drawn together.

“R-right but.”

“I want you to be my boyfriend.”

“I-I can’t.”

She tilted her head to one side and Jim found his gaze drawn back to the floor. It was worn from the Christmas boxes that Kim slid back and forth twice a year for however many years her parents had owned the house. 

“Are you with Hiki?” She asked.

“Wha- No.” Jim jerked his chin back up to look her in the eye. “No, I think he’s into Kim, he’s not. I’m not.”

“So it’s just me?” Janice’s eyes grew hard.

Jim gave her a crooked grin, scrambling to relieve the tension. “I can’t be your boyfriend but I’ll kiss you for however many minutes we have left. Though I don’t know if anyone’s keeping the time since Miss President is the one in the hot seat.”

Janice did not crack a smile, did not lean forward to accept his offered kiss. Her blue eyes became dark, her voice deadly.

“I loved you and you have cast me away.  
Around you love will fall like rain  
you won’t hold it, your heart will pain  
once someone has kissed you  
to the next they will be true!”

She grabbed his face, kissed his lips roughly. “I will have my true love,” she insisted.

“I-I of course.” Jim stumbled, then started again as the doors were thrown open.

“Aww!” Gary yelled. “No fun they’ve got their clothes on!”

Jim didn’t bother to snipe back. He still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. After naming Abigail the new ‘Kiss-er’ and taking deep breaths next to Hikaru he felt his body unwind. Janice certainly was a first kiss to remember, even if it wasn’t fondly.


	2. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship between you and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock meets Dr. Leonard McCoy.

2010

Monday evening Grayson Spock Edwards sat cross legged in his desk chair re-reading the case study he was supposed to have intimate knowledge of for his lecture the next day. The giant floater hovering in his right eye was giving him a headache and he caught himself recalculating his decision to not seek medical attention after the soccer ball connected with his face earlier in the day. He closed his eyes briefly and then stared up at the popcorn ceiling, observing the floater twist and dance with each minute movement of his eyes. 

The ceiling began to darken. He was imagining things. He did not imagine things. The field of vision in his right eye shrank as a dark curtain descended from the top. Spock decided that he was now 98 percent certain he had made an incorrect choice to simply come home and rest after the soccer game. 

He closed his right eye, now more distracting than helpful, and unfolded his legs from underneath him. At 2032 he may need to visit an emergency room; however, he planned to first ascertain if the eye doctor who let the apartment next to his was available for more immediate consultation. The stereo type of an afflicted individual languishing in the waiting room of a hospital while in desperate need of medical assistance did not have baseless roots. 

He acquired his jacket from it's hook next to the door and retrieved his wallet and keys from the small table before exiting the apartment and locking up behind him. He then walked the six feet between his door and that of his neighbor and rapt smartly five times. As he waited, his hands joined at the small of his back, he closed his left eye and opened his right wide. The darkness seemed to have further taken over his upper peripheral vision. 

The door opened and a rumpled looking young man wearing a T shirt and fuzzy pajama pants appeared, smart phone in hand. 

“You are an eye doctor, correct?”

The man looked down at his phone and then back up at Spock's face. “Dr. McCoy,” he said and then kicked the door open wider with his foot and offered his hand to Spock. “Len, and yeah I'm an ophthalmologist.”

Spock shook his hand briefly, firmly, exactly as he'd been coached and then took a step back involuntarily. “My name is Spock, I live in unit 17 next door, and I seem to be loosing the sight in my right eye.”

Dr. McCoy blinked, and looked down again as if to gather himself. Then gestured for Spock to follow him into the apartment which seemed to be a mirror of Spock's own two bedrooms. “Have a seat,” he said, indicating the sofa. He then reached for the laptop that was open on the coffee table. “Do you mind if I create a chart for you?”

“Please, do as you see fit.”

“Your full name?”

“Grayson Spock Edwards.”

“And you prefer Spock?”

“Indeed.”

“Date of Birth?”

“March 26th 1990” 

“When did you first notice a change in your vision?”

“While playing soccer at approximately 1430 this afternoon I sustained an injury. The soccer ball struck me in my right eye. When I stopped seeing stars I noticed a large whispy sort of gray spot obstructing my vision in that eye. I chose to wait and allow myself rest rather than seeking medical attention immediately due to a lack of any excessive pain at the time. Approximately 3 minutes before I knocked on your door the top of my peripheral vision in my right eye became dark.” 

Dr. McCoy typed the entire time Spock spoke to him without looking at his keyboard. His gaze was focused and concerned. Spock could hear his fingers flying over the keys. He paused when he asked questions and sometimes after Spock fell silent he grumbled to himself under his breath.

“I'm going to have to look in your eyes at my office, Darlin' I don't have a slit lamp here.”

Spock blinked at the use of endearment and prepared himself to speak when Dr. McCoy continued.

“You can ride with me down there. Goodness knows you shouldn't be driving with one eye incapacitated.” He stood, flipped his laptop shut and slid it into his briefcase. “Let me grab my jacket and some shoes.” He looked down at his pajama pants. “On second thought, I'll change. Wait here I'll be back in a jiff.” he left Spock to sit on the couch in silence. 

Dr. McCoy reappeared a grumbling whirlwind dressed in a blue button down shirt, black trousers, and black leather shoes. He slid his phone in his pocket, rechecking that he grabbed his wallet. He went hunting under the seat cushions in the lazyboy for his keys, double checked that his laptop had made it into the briefcase and then retrieved its charger from the wall behind the couch. He paused for a moment before murmuring, “Coat” to himself, and left for the bedroom again. He returned shrugging on a long white coat and lining up the pockets with those in his trousers.

“Well come on,” he said, jerking his chin toward the door.

Spock stood up and accompanied him. 

The ride to Dr. McCoy's office was filled with questions. Had Spock ever had trouble with his vision previously? Did he have any health conditions? Had he had any surgeries? Was he allergic to any medications? Was he taking any medications? What was his last blood pressure reading? What was his relationship status?

“I do not see how this is relevant Doctor.”

“Trust me, Darlin, I'm required to ask you about pretty much everything.”

“You are not recording any of my answers currently.”

“I'm a pretty sharp knife.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Dr. McCoy glanced away from the road briefly, then laughed. 

“O.K. I'll explain the 'relevance' of your relationship status. If you were say, married, then I would ask how much you would want your spouse to know about your condition. I would have a better idea if there was someone to take care of you when you need it. If you're in a long term committed relationship, same deal. If you're single and living alone then I would ask you follow up questions about friends or family who might be able to come stay with you in the event you need surgery.”

“Very well, Doctor. I am single, and I live alone. As to your follow up questions, my mother and father are currently on a diplomatic visit to Israel though they will return in two weeks time. I am; however, quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“You play soccer?”

“Yes.”

“On a team? Or just pick up?”

“I play on the men's soccer team for my school.”

“So maybe you could have a team mate come stay with you for 3 to 5 days?”

“I would prefer not.”

Conversation lapsed for a moment and Spock kept himself from shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Then the thought struck him. “You believe I will need surgery?”

Dr. McCoy nodded seriously. “You've described a Retinal Detachment. You haven't lost your central vision so likely the mac is still on and I can do a vitrectomy and gas exchange to tack the retina back down tonight. This is of course all based on your description of your symptoms. I'll know for sure when I can look in.” 

Spock straightened his shoulders and clasped his hands together in his lap. “What is the probability you will be able to restore my vision?”

“Well if I'm right and it's a detachment the surgery has a 90 percent chance of restoring you to your former vision provided we do it within 24 hours of the onset. The fact that you came to me immediately gives us a little bit more wiggle room than if you had waited to call till 8 o'clock in the morning.”

“I am afraid Doctor, that had you been away from home I would not have necessarily contacted your office. As I do not know the name of your practice, nor did I recall your name before being introduced this evening.”

“Right, how did you know that I'm an eye doctor?”

“I had received some of your mail earlier in the month, I simply slid it through your slot rather than ringing the doorbell.”

“Ah.” Dr. McCoy tapped on the steering wheel then bit his lip. “I'm sorry for the pause, I'm trying to remember-” Then the questions began again with, Did he smoke? Had he ever? Does he drink? Does he take illegal drugs? “What? I have to ask.” What type of insurance did he have? What diseases did his parents have? What was he studying in school?

“Law.”

“Impressive you're what 20 years old? Is this your first year in law school?”

“Indeed.”

Suddenly the doctor was silent and Spock held in his sigh of relief. The doctor turned into a parking lot pulled into a space and cut the engine. 

“We're here. Come on Darlin' and lets see what we can do about that eye.” 

Spock opened his mouth, then shut it again, and climbed out of the car. Really it was better than waiting hours to be attended by a physician whose attention was split many different ways. He must remember to offer his thanks later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far. =) I'd love to hear what you think about it.
> 
> <3


	3. Let me check my schedule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so excited~! 15 lovely people subscribed to my story. I'm honored y'all~! Please enjoy.

Spock's exam lasted longer than any other eye exam he had previously experienced. His headache had blossomed into a full blown migraine after all the dilation, bright lights, and new terminology. They had moved from the dark exam room to the bright reception desk and Dr. McCoy was currently on the phone with someone Spock uncharitably thought had no business in scheduling surgeries at the hospital. At this point, even with the pounding his temples, Spock could have told the secretary that it was a Pars Planar Vitrectomy for a Retinal Detachment in the Right eye with a possible Forceps Membrane Peel and air fluid gas exchange, a 23 gauge needle and local mac anesthesia. 

“Yes ma'am, it's a mac-on RD so we need to get to it tonight. No ma'am, I understand that your technicians would rather it wait for the morning shift but this is an emergency surgery. The patient will be there in 30 minutes.”

There was a pause. Spock focused on breathing, fingering the seam on his trousers, and pushing the pressure behind his eyes out to the edges of his skull. He suffered from the illogical wish to call his mother regardless of the fact that he was fully grown and able to consent to the surgery on his own. 

“We will sign one more thing on the consent and then I'll fax it right over to you. Thank you. See y'all in a bit. Bye.” Dr. McCoy hung up the phone and then looked up at Spock. “Poor thing. I think they stuck the new girl with the night shift and then whoever was paired with her called out.”

Spock nodded, no longer concerned now that he didn't have to hear the information repeated then spelled out then repeated again. 

“I need to get you to sign here,” Dr. McCoy said, sliding over a sheet of paper. “This gives me permission to perform the surgery. It also states that the alternative to not doing the surgery is doing nothing and that would result in 100 percent loss of vision in your right eye. The risks of the surgery are, infection, decreased vision, loss of vision, or loss of the eye entirely. The likelihood of any of that occurring is extremely rare. In the event of infection I would treat it immediately, and we've already set up your appointment for noon tomorrow to begin your follow up so you will be fine.” 

Spock reached for the sheet and a pen, then signed his name where the doctor had indicated.

“So, we're about ready to head over. I've got to fax this.” He held up the sheet Spock had just signed and grouped it together with the others describing the surgery and Spock's medical history. “Is there anyone you wanna call, Darlin'?”

Spock refrained from biting his lip. “My mother,” he said softly.

The doctor smiled at him, “You go right ahead,” he said. “Oh and Spock?”

“Yes?”

“We'll fix your eye, you're going to be fine.”

“Fine has variable definitions, Doctor.”

Dr. McCoy threw his head back and laughed. “Don't I know it.”

Spock drew his phone out of his pocket and selected his mother's contact information before hitting send. It range twice, then he heard her fumbling with her own device.

“Spock, how are you?”

“I am...” Spock glanced around the room. “There is no cause for excessive concern, Mother.”

“Oh Spock, what has happened?”

“I am fine, Mother. I simply found myself wishing to ask after your health.”

“I am in good health, my boy.”

Spock could hear the fondness in his mother's tone. “I am no longer a boy,” he countered.

“Ah, but you are still mine.”

“Indeed.” A small smile crept across Spock's face. There was a pause in conversation. Spock listened to his mother's breaths over the phone. Little soothing puffs of air. He closed his eyes and pictured her chest rising and falling, smelled the scent of “Oscar” by Oscar De La Renta that his mother always wore. 

“I shall let you return to your morning, Mother.”

“Very well. I love you too,” she said.

He waited, the phone pressed to his ear until he heard the click of the call disconnecting. He opened his eyes just as Dr. McCoy came grumbling into the room, briefcase in hand. 

“After you,” the doctor said holding open the front door.

Spock stepped out into the night. 

#

Spock woke to the knocking on his apartment door with a start. It took him a moment to remember his face down position had been implemented due to medical recommendation. All of his muscles felt strained, for he clearly had slept on them wrong, and the tape holding the plastic shield over his eye was not only itchy but had left a small amount of sticky residue on his sheet. He pushed up on his palms and stumbled to answer the door.

“Doctor?”

“Please, call me Len.”

Spock blinked for a moment in the open doorway. “Len?”

“How are ya feeling?”

“I feel compelled to remind you that it is,” Spock glanced at the clock on the wall, “0830 and I have an appointment with your office at noon.”

“I know, damn precise law student,” Dr. McCoy grumbled, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “Its just, this is my first retinal detachment surgery flying solo, and I want to see how I did.”

Spock took a moment to look down at the floor and gather himself. He did not intend to relive all his concern from the previous evening with the added knowledge that he was a first time. “Perhaps you should not confide such statistics and desires with your patient?”

Dr. McCoy grinned at him, “I have a good feeling about this.”

“I see.” Spock said, even though he didn't. 

“And I see that you followed orders and slept face down.”

Spock reached up and felt the wrinkles embedded in his cheek from sleeping with the sheets pressed against his face. 

“That's what I like to see. Did you have any pain?” 

“I have not experienced any thus far; however I have been proactive in taking the medicine rather than attempting to tough it out.”

Dr. McCoy leaned against the door frame. “Would you come get breakfast with me?”

 

Spock was not quite sure what to make of the request, “As your patient?”

“As neighbors, silly goose.”

“Doctor, neither am I a goose nor am I particularly silly at this juncture.”

The doctor choked back a snort. “Please, call me Len.”

“Very well, Len. If you will allow me time to assemble appropriate attire.” 

“Take all the time you need, Darlin'”

Spock blinked with only his left eye, right still glued shut under the gauze and plastic. He was going to have to bring up the doctor's- Len's incessant pet names sooner or later, preferably sooner, most likely at breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I worked for a retina surgeon until I had my baby girl 6 months ago, and he honestly calls all of his patients 'Darlin' which I think is adorable. His staff he called 'his girls' which I also thought was really cute, especially because whenever he noticed he'd done it he'd get all flustered and try and correct himself like, "I'll ask my girls to, I mean, my technicians, um, Kathleen? could you, yes that, thank you." Gah! he's amazing. So when I started thinking about writing a modern day AU I really wanted to make Bones a retina surgeon too. Also I know way more about eyes than any other part of the body so it makes sense with that whole, "write what you know" thing. 
> 
> A little side note of fan girling... Tonight as he was falling asleep my husband rolled over, kissed me on the forehead, and said, "Goodnight my dear Watson." He fell asleep and I snuck out of bed to write; I can hear him snoring from the study. =P 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading~! Please tell me what you think~! Is there anything I could improve~?
> 
> Next chapter will move back to Jim Kirk and will involve Miramanee. =)


	4. Miramanee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Jim Kirk loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to put this situation in the most delicate light possible without being heavy handed or trite. I don't want for any of you to come away disliking either Miramanee or Jim for anything in this chapter. If there are changes you think should be made to make the story more believable/respectful/poignant then please comment! I am completely open to changing the story as I go. Work shopping is one of the most useful tools for a writer!
> 
> Additionally, I'd really love to know something personal about you, my lovely readers, 20 of you have asked to be e-mailed when I update~! Would you comment or private message me something about yourself~?

2011

Jim Kirk was laying in the sun on the thick grass of the university mall when he saw a beautiful tan girl with long black hair settle fairly near him in the grass and open a text book. He admired the view for several minutes; her toned legs, cut off jean shorts, the way her beaded tank top caught the sunlight and glinted it off in as many directions as there were beads. 'It's now or never,' he told himself and then jumped to his feet in one fluid motion, grabbed his book bag and crossed the short distance between them. 

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” he asked.

She looked up, a little startled, then smiled and gestured to the grass around her. “I do not own the mall,” she answered him.

“But do you welcome my company?” he persisted, though he did settle cross legged before her. “I'm Jim,” he added. 

“Miramanee,” she replied, extending her hand.

Jim shook it. “It's nice to meet you, what's your major?”

“Religious studies.” 

“Cool, I'm computer engineering.”

She smiled, almost looking as if she wished to return to her text book.

Jim glanced across the mall to the brick foreign language building, “Miramanee is a different sort of a name.”

“I'm Native American.”

“So that's why you have such a perfect tan.” Jim winked at her.

Miramanee laughed. “I guess so. And thank you, for the complement. It's a lot of hard work to put on a bathing suit and spend time at the pool.” 

“I don't suppose I could help you with that sometime? Lighten the load a bit?”

Miramanee looked down at her painted toes. Jim followed her gaze eagerly. He held his breath.

“Are you asking me out?” 

Jim bit his lip before replying, “Trying to.”

“Then I accept, Jim.”

He grinned in relief, and pulled out his phone. “What's your number?”

They set a date for the following Friday to swim at the pool at her apartment. 

#

No one could have convinced Jim that there was a better place to have a date than a swimming pool. For one thing the attire was most delicious, and who didn't like causing a splash? He climbed up the ladder on the side of Miramanee's pool and stepped back on the concrete only to rush forward and cannonball into the water. He sank to the bottom, then kicked off and burst into the air, hair swinging wildly blinking chlorinated water from his eyes and setting them, in his wild exuberance, on Miramanee.

She was gorgeous. Her hair floated around her in the water. She had brought floatation noodles with them and soon they waged a fencing match that devolved into wrestling accompanied by shrieks and giggles. Jim gave himself a one arm handicap to even the playing field, though the feel of her bare skin under his hands caused enough misfiring in his brain that he probably didn't need one. 

They chased each other around the pool and Jim privately came to the conclusion that swimming was better than dancing or any other activity he'd experienced with a girl thus far. He knew the excitement of her breaths, her pulse. The warmth of her tan skin met the cool blue water in the pool, and Jim witnessed the introduction as well as the give and take of relationship over the course of the afternoon. 

He felt it when Miramanee became tired, sinking back against his chest. She kicked her feet up over the noodles, allowing them to bouy her up in the water. Jim wanted more and suddenly his hand was on her shoulder, the back of her head. They breathed deeply together.

“I can't,” she said.

Jim stiffened and let her go. “Did I read you wrong?”

“No, no, it's just.” Miramanee was chewing on her bottom lip. “I do like you, I do. I just- my family may be more strict than you're used to and I'm not comfortable with kissing until after you've asked my father if you can date me. I mean I know this was a date and all but-”

“Shh, shh.” Jim wrapped his arms around her much like before. “I don't wanna do anything you uncomfortable with.” Then he jumped back. “Uhh. That was OK right?”

She smiled at him, all her earlier distress wiped from her face. “Perfect,” she said, then advanced to be folded in his arms. “This is also OK,” she said softly and she kissed his cheek. “Just no more for now.”

Jim smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead. “We'll go at your pace, Miramanee,” he whispered. She was beautiful, and he wasn't even sure she'd heard him.

#

Jim and Hikaru walked down the steps after their Spanish 202 lecture, the only class they had in common. 

“Video games tonight?” Hikaru asked.

“Ah, man I can't.”

“Dude, You've been with Mira like every night for the last month, I'm sure she's great man but she can't be that good what ever happened to bros before-”

“Don't even think about finishing that sentence.” Jim glared at his best friend. “And I do come home at night, you're the one who's out all night long.”

“Alright alright, but sometime you gotta find a few hours to hang out with me man, and practicing for our presentation next week does not count. You'd have to do that even if you weren't my friend.”

Jim quickly agreed before jogging off to catch the bus to Miramanee's apartment. “Later Hiki!” he called over his shoulder, and laughed when his friend flipped him off. 

#

It was one in the morning. Jim was home, curled up in bed with his lap top doing homework when his phone rang. “Hello mi amore,” he said after checking the caller I.D. “Did you enjoy your girl's night out?”

All he heard on the other end of the line was sniffling and the occasional deep breath.

“Miramanee?”

“Jim,” she said then began sobbing in earnest.

“Where are you Miramanee?”

“I- I'm home n-now,” she stuttered between sobs. 

Jim climbed off his bed and pulled on his shoes without socks, not bothering to change out of his pajama pants. “I'm on my way,” he said, grabbing his keys off his desk. He left the room laptop open on his bed. “The buses don't run this late,” he said, just for something to say. Miramanee had never sounded this distressed in the entire 3 months they'd been dating. “You'll have to forgive me when I start breathing hard and sounding all out of shape over the phone.”

Miramanee sniffed and made a choked sound as if she had tried to laugh. 

She didn't live far off campus. It would take him 25 minutes to get there on foot, unless he ran. He immediately began to pick up the pace. He spoke to her the whole time, “I love you,” he whispered.

“Why?” she gasped as if in pain.

Jim was running hard now, breathing heavily into the phone. “You're passionate, and genuine,” he said between breaths, “you're beautiful.” 

He made it to her apartment in 14 minutes. She lay broken in a small heap on her bed.

“It was in my drink,” she said, and she clung to him. “They tell you when you start that you should never let your drink out of your sight but I didn't think, I mean. I was out with the girls and-” she broke off and sobbed into his T shirt.

Jim rocked her back and forth, “Shh,” he said. “I got you, it's going to be OK.”

His blood thundered in his veins. “Who?” he asked once she had calmed some and was hiccuping into him. She had yet to let him see her face.

“I can't tell you, you'd kill him.”

“Mira-”

“You can't convince me I know, and then you would go to jail, never finish school.” She hiccuped again.

Jim sighed, stroked her hair. He closed his eyes and ducked his forehead, pressing it against hers. “We need to get you to the hospital,” he said.

She nodded. 

“I'll call a cab.” And he wondered why he hadn't thought of that before. He wouldn't have gotten off the phone though, so it didn't matter. He kissed the top of her head.

#

Five weeks later Jim was on his way up the stairs to Miramanee's apartment after classes. She'd withdrawn some, hadn't attended any classes for 3 weeks after. Slowly she seemed to be letting Jim back in. The proud confidence she once had was shattered but Jim still wanted to be there with her, hadn't even considered leaving. 

He'd convinced her to tell the police who'd done it though she still kept it a secret from him. In some ways she did know him well despite only having been together a little more than 4 months. Today he'd picked up milkshakes from Cookout on his way over to surprise her.

“Jim,” she said with a small tremor of excitement in her voice when she opened the door.

“Hello,” he responded, then hugged her close after he'd set down his things.

“I need you to sit.”

“OK?” Jim sat in her desk chair. The only chair in her room. He watched her nervously pace back and forth for 30 seconds before picking something up off her dresser and handing it to him.

He took it from her, a little white stick with two pale pink lines on it. “Umm?” he wasn't sure what to ask.

“I'm pregnant,” she replied.

Jim looked back down at the stick, then at the belly she'd recently begun hiding along with the rest of her form under baggy clothes. He could feel his lips quirk up in a grin. She would keep it, he knew. She had often adamantly spoken to him of her firm belief that life began at conception and that no life is more valuable than another. 

His eyes sought hers, blue caught in deep dark brown. “Oh Miramanee.” His chest felt tight. “You know that I would- That I want to-” He stood and very slowly, so she would have the time to move away, he brought his lips to hers. He wrapped her in his arms and teased her lips parting his own, peppering her with kiss after kiss. “I'll ask your father's permission,” he whispered, then kissed her ear, and her cheek, then back to her precious lips once again. “That is if you will have me?”

She did not answer him with words but initiated a kiss of her own. He felt this moment should last forever, and that it must end if only to spare his thundering heart. He hummed running his fingers up and down her back, and the milkshakes melted, forgotten on her desk. 

#

That evening when Jim got back to the dorm he collapsed on the futon next to Hikaru who was playing video games. 

“So that guys night you mentioned,” he started with after it was apparent Hikaru didn't plan to say hello. 

Hikaru raised his eyebrows. “You mean from like two three months ago?”

Jim winced. “Aye, I deserve that. I was thinking, Friday, just you and me?”

Hikaru rolled his eyes. “And what if I have plans?”

“You name the time.”

“Friday, from 5 o'clock on,” Hikaru demanded, “and your cinnamon cookie better not be joining us.”

“I do know the meaning of the phrase, 'guy's night'.” Jim rolled his eyes. 

#

Friday found Jim skipping all of his classes without a doctor's note. He stayed in the dorm on his bed as if he had been super glued there. I couldn't stomach the sound of the TV or the light from his computer screen, and he'd tossed his phone across the room where it had mocked him by not being harmed in the least and vibrating against the wall occasionally while causing a general nuisance of itself. 

At 5 o'clock he heard the key in the door of their dorm before Hikaru let himself in. “Finally Mira let you have time for a guys night,” he said as soon as he saw Jim, flinging his keys onto his desk. “I rented Call of Duty. Did you pick up the beer?”

Jim lifted his head and half smiled before sinking back into the despair he'd been wallowing in since the night before. “I didn't get any beer. We have a lot more guys nights ahead of us though,” he said glumly. 

“You broke up?” Hikaru looked confused. “But she's the first one to tie Jim Kirk down to more than 3 dates.”

“More like the first one I was ever able to hang on to.” 

“That sucks man.” Hikaru sat down next to him on his bed and drew his knees up to his chest. “What happened.” 

“This guy, she's had a crush on forever. She ran into him at the freaking baby doctor's.”

“Baby doctor's?'

“You know, the O B Won something I dunno.”

Jim felt Hikaru lean back next to him, his torso encircling Jim's. 

“So she loves someone else.”

“I was gonna marry her. I was.”

Hikaru lay there with him, let Jim match his breaths and bring his own body under control. 

“She didn't deserve you,” Hikaru declares after a few minutes.

“Hiki!,” Jim protested, “I don't need platitudes from you man.”

“She didn't,” he insisted, “I mean, I'm your best friend, we live together and I haven't hardly seen you since you started dating her. The sex may have been good but it doesn't take that much time, I know you were spoiling her rotten.”

Jim grumbled under his breath not really sure what he was saying himself. Hikaru got up, then smacked him on the butt. 

“Call of Duty?” he asked.

“Sure,” Jim groaned, lifting himself off the bed for the first time in six hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My husband's name is Kirk (his middle name, but that's the one he goes by most of the time) We've known each other since we were 11 years old (We are 25 now) and growing up mutual friends would call him Captain as a nick name. He's really much more like   
> Spock though...
> 
> I assume it's apparent that Spock is my favorite character. 
> 
> My husband didn't understand. We were cleaning up from dinner one evening when he asked me, “Why do you have a crush on Spock when he's incapable of being affectionate?”
> 
> I responded, “Instead of thinking of it as incapable, think of it as the regard running so deep that it's completely precious to him and not something that's expressed unless he's behind closed doors.”
> 
> He was silent for a moment. “You mean that Spock is like me?” and suddenly he understood. =)
> 
> My husband calls us soul mates but he will not kiss me, touch me, or say he loves me in public. He refused to tell his co-workers what he had bought me for Christmas last year. If we are around anyone and I say something he considers private like, 'I love you' he simply holds my gaze for several seconds. He more than makes up for that when we're alone. I'm sure I project a lot of our relationship when shipping Spock and Jim, but that's what makes it fun~! And intelligence is sexy as all get out is it not?


	5. Paxil

2012

Spock sat without compromising his posture in one of Len's exam chairs for his yearly follow up. The room looked pixelated from the dilation drops. The familiar lines of Len's face morphed into a single flesh and pink colored blob that rotated from the computer to face him. 

“You added Paxil to your medication list. Are you dealing with depression?”

“Doctor.”

“Len,” he insisted.

“Len.” Spock held in a sigh and stared straight ahead at the pixelated chair rail avoiding Len's pixelated face. 

“Is it because your mom died?”

“You're my eye doctor not my psychiatrist.” 

“I'm your friend.” 

Spock gripped the arm rest of the exam chair and did not respond. 

“It was all over the news, Spock.” 

“You sent me a sympathy card already.”

“I had to slide it through your damn mail slot because you wouldn't take my calls or answer the fucking door. I had no idea if you would even show up today.”

“I had an appointment.”

“You haven't been leaving for your classes.”

Spock lifted his chin. “Maybe if you spent more time growing your clinic and less time spying on me-”

“Your car never leaves it's space!”

They both fell silent. Spock could hear Len breathing more heavily than normal. He pushed everything away in his head, out to the edges so it wouldn't be able to touch him. “I'm dropping out.”

“Wha?”

“My mother never wanted me to be a lawyer anyway.”

“And you've thought about it? I mean you graduate this spring.”

“I will not spend five more months of my life dedicated to something so meaningless.” Spock bit his lip and settled back into his chair, refusing to looked appalled that he had raised his voice. 

“What will you do?” Len asked, completely unaffected by, what was for Spock, the largest outburst he'd had since he was seven years old.

“There's a coffee shop. It is my grandfather's.”

“Mr Grayson?”

Spock inclined his head. “He would like to retire. I am going to run it.”

“Well that's something.”

“I will no longer trespass on my father's financial generosity, I must therefore either move out, or find a room mate.”

“Has anyone other than me even visited your apartment?”

Spock stiffened and looked down his nose at Len the best he could without the ability to fully see. “Despite your recent reconnaissance on my person I have had guests you are unaware of, Doctor.” 

“Well, Mr. Edwards.” Len returned “How're you going to find a roommate when you never step foot outside your damn apartment?”

“Craigslist.”

Len stared at him, then busted out laughing. 

Spock felt his fingers tightening on the arms of his chair despite telling them to relax. 

Len continued laughing 'til he sighed. After a breath he spoke again, “Move in with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended to write more, and I will, maybe tomorrow (later today), but I've a headache and today's been a not hungry sort of a day...
> 
> I hope you all are well.
> 
> Who is your favorite person in the universe?


	6. The Whirlwind that is Leonard McCoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you lovely people~! I hope you are all having wonderful days~!
> 
> Let me know what you think about this chapter~!
> 
> Also, What color is your room painted? My bedroom is painted "Lime Twist" but the shade of green isn't really lime at all...

Life had stopped.

As soon as Len returned from clinic that evening he knocked heavily on Spock's door. Spock answered stiffly, ashamed that he had changed back into his pajama pants upon arriving home and hadn't bothered with a shirt, mortified that he felt ashamed, and doing his best to keep it all out of his face. He allowed the muscles in his neck to relax once Len passed on the opportunity to comment. 

“Come on,” Len said and grabbed his arm, “We'll go over what things will be like when you move in. Heck, we can even start setting everything up tonight. I'll order pizza for dinner.”

By the time Spock opened his mouth to speak they were entering Len's apartment. “Len, I-” he didn't know what to say. “I have not decided I mean- your proposal does not benefit you, Leonard. Your apartment has the same two rooms as mine and I would not oust Joanna from her space.”

“Don't be ridiculous Spock. The munchkin never sleeps in her room when she's over here anyway. Jocelyn says I spoil her but she only sees her daddy twice a month, if she wants to sleep in my bed I'm certainly not going to stop her.”

They came to a halt in the center of the smaller bedroom. Len had painted it pink, at Joanna's request shortly after he moved in. The space was fairly neat, a twin bed in the corner, a little vanity, 15 or 20 items of clothing on matching pink hangers in the closet.

“A change of color is in order I reckon,” Len said, hands on his hips, surveying the room.

Spock crossed his arms over his chest, it felt a bit cooler than his apartment and he now regretted his lack of shirt for more than his sluggish sense of modesty. When he noticed Len's inquisitive gaze, he nodded slightly and then undercut the non-verbal agreement with, “I am sure Joanna would prefer her room remain her favorite color.”

“Your room, Spock, should be a little more manly and a little less pink,” Len returned, and then gestured to the frieze, which consisted of white bunnies wearing point shoes, “Unless ballerina bunnies are your thing in which case, I'll try not to judge.”

“Ballerina bunnies do not interest me in the least.”

“That's a relief,” Len said, and then laughed. “So I was thinking, we could put Joanna's mattress underneath my bed and if she wants space to herself she's welcome to pull it out but if not it doesn't have to be out all the time. There's room for her clothes in my closet, of course. My ex-wife would be jealous of the closet space, she's got more dresses than any three sane women put together.” He stepped over to the closet and gathered about half the clothes in his arms and all the empty pink hangers. “Hey, grab the rest of those for me and we'll put 'em in my room.” 

Spock did as he was told. It was easier to spend time with Len because the man filled the silence with chatter and grumbling. Spock didn't have to listen to his own thoughts as they found themselves crowded out by the self centered things Jocelyn used to say, the affection Len felt for his daughter, and the annoyance of having to disassemble the damn twin bed frame. 

Within an hour the young girl's room was empty and the two men were at Lowes (Spock now dressed in real clothes) discussing paint chips.

“It is your apartment Leonard,” Spock deferred again, having given up calling the room Joanna's as his friend shot that down swiftly each time it was brought up.

“Think of it as our apartment, Darlin',” Len corrected, and then burst out laughing when he noticed Spock trying to maintain a neutral facial expression. “I know I know,” he said once he caught his breath, “no affectionate names for my dear friend Spock.”

This time Spock could not control the grimace that briefly distorted his features. 

Len's face fell slightly but he forced a jovial tone, “A person might think I was calling you bad names.”

Spock shook his head. “Not now Len,” he said softly.

Leonard bit his lip, but Spock didn't notice because Spock was definitely not looking at him. Spock was breathing in through his nose slowly counting to ten. Then Len was selecting a soft burnt orange paint chip.

“This kinda reminds me of you. Sort of earthy but austere, I dunno. I'm a doctor not an interior decorator. Lets just pick a color and get out of here.” Len was rambling again, filling the silence, making it easier for Spock to breath. 

“That,” Spock said taking the paint chip from him, “will go well with my duvet.” Spock did not allow himself to dwell on the fact he had now officially claimed the room as his own. 

Life began to trickle again, moving more slowly than time. 

They took the paint chip to the counter and had a gallon mixed while Len prattled on about pizza toppings and then ordered Papa John's through the app on his phone. They bought the paint and some new rollers, then headed out and picked up the pizza. Returned to Len's apartment and began the prep work for re-painting Joanna's old room. 

In between bites of pepperoni and sausage Len listed his expectations for their co-habitation while Spock listened and ate his own veggie pizza. 

“There's no sense in us dancing around each other about every little thing. I mean. I'm going to do things that annoy you and you need to feel able to speak up, you know, defend yourself. And I also need to be able to let off some steam you know?”

Spock stood, and not finding any napkins, wiped his hands off on his jeans. He selected the roll of blue tape and continued where he had left off when Len declared himself too hungry to work any longer. He had eaten, bite for bite along with his friend, trying not to reveal his complete lack of appetite. 

“So what do you think about groceries?” Len continued talking while he began spreading a drop cloth over the carpet. “Feel free to disagree with me but I was thinking we should come up with a budget, we could contribute equally to an envelope or something and then we don't have to worry about keeping two gallons of milk from going out of date, not to mention the refrigerator space. And I know your vegetarian but you are always drinking that tea so I figure it would probably be about even, I mean. Well what do you think? Feel free to disagree.”

“I find the suggestion logical, Leonard. Perhaps we could rotate evenings to prepare a meal in order to evenly distribute daily tasks?”

“Great,” Len said, and flashed a grin at him. “I know it will be better for me to eat at home more often instead of stopping somewhere on my way back from clinic.”

They continued working well into the night, finishing two coats on the walls before collapsing in exhaustion. Len spoke until Spock fell asleep on the couch leaving Spock with the vague feeling that he was afraid to let his friend return to his own apartment because he may change his mind and not come back. It was the first time since- that Spock had fallen asleep without wallowing in the gaping hole that was the loss of his mother. 

In the morning, they ate breakfast together. Spock was silent. Len grumbled to himself under his breath. He really hadn't gotten enough sleep but Spock took comfort in the fact that Len didn't have any surgeries scheduled for the day, despite the knowledge that his doctor friend worked well regardless whenever the pressure was on. 

He called the university and officially withdrew from his classes. Then spent the rest of the day on Leonard's couch re-reading “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”.

The only things in life that existed were the cool touch of thin Bible-like pages and the smell leather binding.

When Len arrived back home, he bit his lip at the sight of Spock on the couch, and the lack of Spock's things in the little bedroom. 

Spock felt like sinking into the floor. He should have tried harder to get up, to change out of the clothes he had painted in and then slept in. He should have started moving his things. He should have rustled around in the refrigerator and made something for dinner. He should have called his father and informed him that he was moving out.

“Hey,” Leonard interrupted Spock's thoughts. “it doesn't matter, we'll work on it together right now.”

Having him there, in the room, taking off his white coat, tossing his keys onto the end table next to his recliner, turning on the television, gave Spock the strength to stand up, and move to the kitchen to fix dinner.

After they ate, Len suggested they bring over Spock's stuff. Spock felt as if his mind floated above his body during the move from his apartment to his friend's next door. They propped open both doors and carried things back and forth, not bothering to box them up first. 

He distantly noticed that their belongings seemed to fit together surprisingly well. Spock had developed a minimalist streak during his first semester of undergrad and so his apartment had only contained things he used on a regular basis where as Len's possessions had been close to basic as well since he hadn't felt the inclination to replace all the extras after his divorce. While Spock typically would have assessed himself as an observant person, it was not until combining their material goods that he noticed that they both tended to gravitate toward the color blue, although Spock would not classify it as his favorite. 

That evening, after carrying over everything that Spock planned on keeping, Len punched him in the shoulder and said goodnight. Spock found himself rolling out his yoga mat to meditate. He fell into a calm, listening to his breath, watching the events of the day float by on the river of his thoughts, observing while remaining impartial and feeling a bit like he may have a home.


	7. Christine Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Jim Kirk and Christine Chapel got married and had a daughter her name should be Temple...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone~
> 
> This was supposed to be chapter 3 in my original outline... 3 of 19; but I jumped the gun a little when posting Spock chapters and I've added in more back story so we are currently trying for 7 of 26. ;-P Thanks to all of you who've commented, subscribed, and left kudos. I adore knowing that you're reading. Please let me know if there is any way I can improve the story or if you have any ideas for the future. 
> 
> On a side note, when trying to figure out how to private message another user I discovered that this cannot currently be done on AO3... So~! I have added my e-mail address to my profile. In some ways this is difficult to write and would be way easier if I had someone or someones with which to brainstorm. So if you'd like, then I would love, to e-mail with peoples. Especially if *cough cough* youthinkyouwriteaswellasabiologist *cough cough* If you've commented on my story I have stalked your profile *looks sheepish*. Moving on...

Chapter 7

2014

Jim Kirk woke up to his alarm, already smiling. It was one of those mornings, like Christmas, when you know that your mother set the cinnamon rolls to rise in the refrigerator the night before, that your favorite author's latest book is wrapped for you under the tree, and that your brother has no idea that he will be getting a crazy ass expensive piece of science equipment for his lab that everyone pooled their money to purchase. Jim hummed as he snuggled into his perfectly warm covers and cast an affectionate glance at his clock-radio that today proudly displayed 5:45 am rather than obnoxiously blaring it at him as was the device's wont. 

He lay in the dark, enjoying the feel of his cotton sheets and the weight of his comforter for exactly five minutes before sliding out from under them and stepping on the playfully cool wood floor with his bare feet. Wood floors were particularly attractive; so was 5:50 am. He slid his hand out, flicked the light switch on, and blinked in the sudden flood of light that fill the room, swirling around him. Today was an ideal day to kick Sensei Sulu's butt while sparring. 

He'd done laundry the day before so an abundance of options were available to him. He drew on his favorite gray sweats over his black briefs then added a white undershirt. Then he filled his gym bag with a more presentable set of clothing to wear at work as well as a clean towel. Towels always felt nicest the first time they were used after a wash. 

The coffee maker smiled at Jim when he greeted it. He felt alert enough to forgo his regular cup, yet indulged any way, letting the warm beverage fill his senses. His fingers were warm around the mug, his toes cold against the tile in his kitchen. He savored each sip of coffee. His lips embraced the cup. 

First cup consumed, Jim poured a second, then sat in the living-room area, deleting junk e-mails on his phone until 6:10 am when he set the coffee mug in the sink, gathered up his bag, and sauntered down the stairs with his blissed out attitude in tow. Jim's office front for his web design company was below his apartment, or rather, he lived in the apartment above his web design company's office space. Hikaru had gone native and he ran a dojo next door, also living in the apartment above the storefront.

In some ways Jim wondered how his best friend managed to put up with the two of them practically living in each other's pockets, but he assumed that for Hikaru it was somewhat similar as for himself. Living and sharing every mundane detail of life was comfortable as well as enjoyable.

Jim immediately spotted Hikaru, ahem, Sensei Sulu on entering. He was watching a kid lifting weights in the corner of the room.

“How old is he?” Jim asked, grinning and doing his best to push Hikaru's buttons.

“Hmm?” Hikaru looked up then back at the kid in the corner, “I dunno, he asked me to give him some pointers.”

After a moment Hikaru knitted his eyes together, “What are you so happy about?”

Jim practically bounced on his toes. “Third date with Christine tonight.”

“Ooo. Someone's planning to get lucky.”

“Something like that.” Jim's happiness dimmed. He had a lot of experience kissing, none in the sack as it were. But he'd been lying, implying, or allowing Hikaru to assume for so long that he couldn't take it back now. So no, he didn't expect Chris to sleep with him tonight, but maybe some french kissing, possibly a hand under her shirt. 

Jim waited while Sensei Sulu talked to the kid about making adjustments to his form. He slung his bag down in the corner and started stretching to loosen up. About 10 minutes later he and Hiki were on the mats. Jim silently congratulated himself. His excellent disposition was giving him an advantage. He was a juggernaut. 

After half an hour of kicks, punches, and being thrown to the mat, the friends were drenched in sweat, and heaving for breath. 

“Good work out, Jim,” Hikaru said, and then punched him in the arm. “Best you've done in a week or more.”

“Thank you Sensei,” Jim responded. He grabbed his back and threw it over one shoulder. “You going to shower?”

Hikaru looked around the room, presumably to see if anyone needed his immediate assistance. “Sure, I'm not interested in smelling ripe the rest of today.”

“Oh it's going to take more than a shower to fix that.”

That got some hollering from guys near by who had heard the exchange. 

“Yeah yeah,” Hikaru returned, waving him away, “You just go take your smug I-got-a-date-with-Christine self and go jump out a window.”

“That's all you got?”

“Fresh out of insults dude, didn't get enough sleep last night.”

“What kept you up?” They walked over to the locker room. 

“Nothing,” Hikaru mumbled, looking down at the floor.

“Come on.”

“I'm just in a funk, man. It's nothing and I don't want to bring down your day.”

Jim stripped, and tossed his clothes in the gym bag. He turned on a shower head setting it as hot as possible. “I'm in the fucking clouds, Hiki. You can't bring me down.” He stepped into the hot spray. “So what kind of a funk is it?”

Hikaru turned on his own shower head. “I'm happy for you and Chris. I am. I'm just.” He closed his eyes and tilted his face directly under the water. 

Jim gave him a moment to collect his thoughts.

“I'm just tired of being alone.”

“You're not going to be alone forever. For one thing, who could resist that ripped body you got going on?”

“Shut up,” Hikaru said, but he was grinning.

“No, I'm serious. I believe there's a perfect person out there for you.”

“You are such a fucking romantic. The perfect girl for me does not exist.”

Jim bit his lip to keep from grinning. “There is someone out there for you, I know it.”

“Whatever man.” Hikaru turned off his shower and picked up his towel.

“Shit,” Jim said looking at the clock on the wall, “I got to get dressed, got to open the shop before 8.” Jim started toweling off vigorously, then hopped around while pulling his clothes on over still damp skin.

“You look ridiculous, go ahead and take your time, it's not like you ever have any customers pop up at 8 in the morning.”

Jim paused after he got his jeans up but before he buttoned them to flip Hikaru the bird. 

Jim finished dressing, then hurried one door down to open his office where he proceeded to sit cross legged in his desk chair and drink his third cup of coffee for the morning. Around 8:10, Jim's only employee, Pavel Chekov shuffled in looking every inch the adorable sleepy genius that he was. His eyes were squinted almost shut. His shoes looked like they had probably been sold from the slipper section, and Jim was willing to bet his blond curly hair had not been combed since the previous day.

“Good morning,” Jim said, failing to keep his curiosity out of his voice.

“Coffee maker's been making a funny noise, so I took it apart.” Chekov slumped down into his chair. “But then there vas this interesting special on PBS so I forgot to put it back together.” Chekov crossed his arms on his desk and then leaned his forehead on them. “I vas waiting in line at Starbucks when I noticed I had left my wallet at home.”

“Poor baby. I'll pour you a cup,” Jim said getting up. “but you have to listen to my plan for my date with Christine tonight.”

“Da,” Chekov responded, waving one hand pitifully in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've a question... Have any of you struggled with enjoying slash? I grew up in a conservative Christian home and I am Christian. Sometimes if I think about it too hard it makes my head hurt. I'm female, and I'm bi (not bi-curious). It has been mostly a non-issue since, I fell in love with a man 8 years ago. About a year before I married my Kirk I was agonizing over the question, “What if I'd been a boy?” I wanted to know if he'd still love me. My Kirk is not bi and therefore said that while we would still be best friends he would not want me that way. At the time I decided that God's divine providence made me a girl just so that I could have my love... Gosh I didn't mean to go on a long rant about myself. I just want to know if any of your religious beliefs clash with homo or bi-sexuality, and if they do, how it effects your relationship with slash? If you're not religious then what are your views on sexuality in general? Would you still want your significant other if y'all woke up one morning and they were the opposite sex?


	8. What makes a date perfect?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing about Jim's job as a web designer is... I know absolutely nothing about it. So yeah, I probably should have chosen a different profession. But the only things I know are eyes, coffee/tea, sailing, life guarding, diving, retail, childcare, and writing... So we'll just gloss over Jim Kirk's actual work whenever it's mentioned and suspend our disbelief... (My cousin does this for a living and if I wasn't too embarrassed to tell him I'm writing a spirk fan fiction I might ask him for some pointers on Jim's job... but no, there's no way.)

Around 4:00 Jim found himself rushing to a stopping point with the website he was currently working on. In reality he'd be back later at 3 in the morning burning the midnight oil but for now he was too excited to think about working any longer. He went up to his apartment and wandered around for a little bit straitening this or that. Then headed back down and tossed a spare set of keys into Chekov's lap.

“Vhat is this?” Chekov asked holding up the keys.

“Keys.”

“I can see that Mr Kirk.” Chekov rolled his eyes.

“Doesn't it defeat the point of calling me mister if you're going to give me a non verbal attitude?”

“I do not know what you are talking about.” Chekov set the keys on his desk, then looked expectantly back at Jim.

“They're to the office, and my place upstairs. Lock up whenever you're ready to call it a day.”

“You're leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“But it's not 7 yet.”

“Chris gets off at 5. I'm going to go pick her up from work.”

“Didn't you tell me the plan about the reservations at 8 o'clock at the french restaurant or was that just the smell of freshly brewed coffee this morning?”

“I canceled them. New plan. If I hurry I can pick up some flowers and still make it to the hospital  
before she gets off.”

“New plan,” Chekov repeated. “I can do this.” He nodded and went back to work.

Jim left him, work, and everything else behind. He stopped at a Trader Joe's to pick up a wild flower bouquet, wished the cashier a good evening and was soon striding down the sidewalk at the fastest pace that could possibly be considered 'leisurely'. The Hospital was not too far from the store and Jim made his way up on the elevator to the 3rd floor nurses' station with the flowers behind his back.

“Special delivery for Nurse Chapel,” he said when he spotted the back of his girl friend's head.

Christine turned and grinned at him. “Jim! What are you doing here?”

“Work was slow.” He handed her the flowers. “I missed you.” 

“They're beautiful,” she told him, “and you're not so bad yourself.”

“Thank you Baby.” He leaned close to her and she gave him a brief peck on the lips that had him grinning from ear to ear. “I'll be down in the waiting room when you get off your shift,” he murmured, then left her to her work. 

They ate at a local Mexican place. Chris fussed at him for not letting her go home to change, but the glint of fun in her eyes tipped Jim off that he had not transgressed too grievously. After dinner they walked around the park watching the sun set over a little pond then continued further. 

They talked about their work, about movies they'd seen recently, about their friends. Jim wanted to tell her about his plan to set up his best friend, but held it back simply enjoying the moment. Her presence was as cool as the evening, and Jim didn't want to be anywhere else. 

He reached out as they walked and traced her wrist. His fingers intertwined with Christine's. They strolled together through the almost too tall grass of the soccer field back toward the pond, and this time when they entered a small grove of trees Jim tugged her into himself causing her to stop. He backed her slowly and carefully into a Loblolly pine. 

His lips brushed hers once, then twice. She squeezed his hand, chased him when he began to pull away. Christine smelled clean, like the asphalt in summer after a thunderstorm. She looked like the moon if it were a woman and dressed in dusty-blue scrubs. 

“You're beautiful,” he whispered while snaking his free arm around her waist, reveling in the scrape of bark against his forearm. 

Christine tilted her head back and laughed. Jim grinned simply from watching her amusement. 

“I still don't see why you had to pick me up straight from work. I could've gone home and changed.” 

“And miss out on seeing you in your sexy uniform?” Jim asked, “I think not.”

“Scrubs are hardly sexy.” Christine smiled again.

“I'll be the judge of that.” Jim brought their lips back together. 

The gentle press of lips on lips became something a little more excited with barely open mouths. Jim invited her tongue to claim him. He let go of her hand and felt for the hem of her scrub top. Christine's skin felt warm and perfect under his fingers. Her mouth was spicy and a little too wet. He traced up her abdomen, followed the contours of her under-wire. 

She pushed him back about six inches, took both his hands in hers and then folded them toward his chest. “Jim,” She said, “it's fun to be with you but I want more than fun.”

Jim swallowed. Her blue eyes held him in place. 

“You're passionate about your job but-”

“You don't want to see me again.”

“Only as a friend.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Jim put his hands in his pockets. 

“Oh Jim; I enjoy you. I do... I just.” She bit her lip, then continued. “We're not right for each other and I don't want to get your hopes up.”

“We are different,” he sighed. “I do understand your dedication to nursing. I'm not asking f-”

“Yes but I need someone who pursues helping others in every aspect of life. You're a problem solver, Jim. A dreamer who believes in good, but you want one person to just pour yourself into, and I want to be part of something bigger than myself, bigger than the man I'm with.”

“I can be who you need.” Jim knew it wouldn't change anything. It never changed anything. Not for the first time he wondered if he was actually doomed to loose every date he ever kissed. 

“I don't want you to change who you are,” she whispered. 

But Christine; Jim's heart broke from the want of her. She was cool and clean like moonlight in the snow making him believe that underneath he wasn't broken, like he could be somebody's everything. Two months of flirting, working up to 3 weeks of dating and it was over. His second longest relationship, and he wondered why he had a reputation for one night stands. 

“I don't deserve to request this,” She said after a moment, “but know that I really mean it. Will you still be my friend? I understand-”

“Walk around again with me?” he interrupted.

She smiled at him gratefully, linked her arm back through his. They set off around the loop one last time, leaving the pond and the soccer field behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this in the afternoon, just got back from grocery shopping at Aldi (bye bye $88) and my baby is asleep in her carrier... So I'm taking this time to put my feet up, drink a diet pepsi, eat mini chocolate chips, and write this chapter. =D I am not; cleaning my extremely messy kitchen (like so messy you'd be appalled), finishing mowing the lawn (had to stop half way through due to rain yesterday), or doing laundry (I'm on my last set of clean clothes unless you count my date night dress)... Shhh don't tell my Kirk~! And I finished just in time to start dinner before he gets home...


	9. The end of Spock/Nyota

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has occurred to me while reading other delightful WIP stories that sometimes while I remember I loved the story that has just been updated, it can take me a regrettable amount of time to remember what the heck is going on when I get the new chapter. Because of this I will summarize the character's previous story arch in the chapter description from now on, feel free to skip it~! Thus far in Spock's story arc he has, gotten a retinal detachment and had surgery to repair it done by Dr. Leonard McCoy. We assume it has been free of complications since. Spock and Leonard form a friendship and remain neighbors. A year and a half later Amanda is killed in a car accident while overseas with her husband the Secretary of Defense. This is highly publicized and used as a political gimic. Leonard ignores Spock's attempts to remain isolated and when Spock drops out of school they move in together and Leonard becomes Spock's emotional sea anchor. This chapter begins approximately 1 year after becoming apartment-mates.

2014 (Still)

Spock had corralled Nyota into the corner of the sofa in the living room until she was practically sitting in his lap. She laughed while he nuzzled at her neck and held her tightly in place. In the background the television played some kind of cooking Chinese takeout at home special. 

“Spock,” Nyota pretended to protest, her smile giving her away. “I asked you to record this because I wanted to watch it.” She giggled when he nipped her ear between his lips and hummed. “You're being a bad boy, you need to go sit over there.” She pushed ineffectually at his chest.

“Did you say something?” he asked, purposefully modifying his voice to its deeper register and speaking directly into her ear. 

“That is so not fair,” she said melting into him. She leaned her forehead against his chest. 

The doorknob rotated and Spock stiffened slightly. He quickly picked Nyota up and deposited her in the corner of the couch on her own, then sat about a foot away. Nyota reached out and tried to take his hand as Leonard stepped into the room. 

“I delivered Joanna safely back to her mama,” Len said as he tossed his keys onto the table next to the recliner. 

Spock took Nyota's hand and firmly placed it back on her own leg, then withdrew back into himself. 

“He's your roommate and best friend. Surely this aversion to PDA does not extend to him?” Nyota said, ignoring Len. 

“Ny, please.”

“I just don't get it. I understand you don't like touch, but it makes me feel like I'm your clandestine mistress.”

Spock tried to make himself smaller, then regretted moving. He wiped his face blank. 

“Can't you, for me?” She was angry, pleading with him.

He was frozen.

“Come on Darlin',” Len interjected, “Don't give him such a hard time. I'll head to my room and he'll love on you just as much.”

“No,” Nyota said. She got up from the couch and started angrily yanking on her boots and zipping them up over her skinny jeans. “I just... No.” She grabbed her purse and exited the apartment, slamming the door behind her. 

Spock sat still several moments, trying to breathe while counting to ten. He felt suddenly overwhelmed with anger and he stood, then chucked the remote at the wall. It left a dent in the drywall, the back came off, and the batteries rolled across the floor in sharp contrast to the complete silence of Spock who did not move, even to breathe. The cooking show prattled on.

“Damn repressed robot,” Len muttered, but there was no heat in his words.

Just like that all Spock's energy left him. He collapsed back exhausted onto the couch. Len came and sat near him, not touching, but close enough Spock could hear and focus on his breaths. 

“She's not the one,” Len said quietly after a few minutes. “Jocelyn wanted me to change. I tried, pushed myself. Eventually she left my ass anyway.” 

Spock did not comment. 

“Nyota isn't going to be happy with you. As much as she loves your mind, she needs your public affection and you cannot give it.” 

“She's the closest,” Spock started. “I don't want to be alone, Len.” He was rubbing the side of his jeans with his thumbs and he knew he should stop. He wanted to say what he thought. He tried again, “You're … I care about-” Spock cut himself off and stared at the new dent in the wall.

“Hey,” Len called his gaze back. “Get up and we'll make some tea.”

Spock stood and followed him to the kitchen. He pulled out a tea tin while Len filled the kettle.

“I can see you,” Len said, “resolving to try showing her affection in public.”

“Her touch is not unpleasant to me, Leonard. I find myself adverse to losing it.” 

“I wish,” Len took a half step toward him. 

Spock carefully measured 4 spoons of Fireball into the mesh sieve of his cast iron teapot. Len briefly tugged on Spock's shirt sleeve, then he went off on a non sequitur. 

“With how much you drink tea; I would have expected you to choose something sophisticated like Earl Grey not a tea named after candy.” 

Spock almost smiled. He traced his fingers on the raised monkeys that decorated his teapot. “My half brother drinks Earl Grey. He's the furthest thing from sophisticated.”

Len laughed. 

“I like the spices,” Spock added, “Even before- It feels alive.”

“Do you make it at your shop?”

“It's not on the menu, but if someone requested it it is available.”

The kettle finished rising to a boil, then clicked. Spock poured the water over the leaves almost reverently, watching them float, swirl, and become soaked.

“She said,” he spoke softly, “that she used to think I blew hot and cold.” He reached up into the cabinet and brought down two tea cups. “How is that more acceptable than just keeping things private?” He raised his eyes to his friend's and knew from the sympathy reflected back at him that his hurt was evident.

Spock waited the appropriate four minutes of steeping time. He stood still. Len leaned against the counter watching the clock on the back of the stove. Spock pulled the sieve from the tea pot, draining spicy heat into the cast iron reservoir. Len got the creamer and they settled down at the table. Spock wondered when making tea together had become a thing. Leonard had, it seemed, noticed the calming effect it had on Spock, and now they collaborated efficiently. 

He tried to picture pulling Ny close, perhaps while they left a restaurant. He could press his lips to hers. His entire body tensed. “I must discontinue the romantic aspect of my relationship with Nyota.”

“She's not right for you.”

Spock glanced up to see Len staring into the depths of his teacup. 

“There's nothing wrong with you, she's just not the right one. Take it from someone who knows.”

Spock raised his tea to his lips. Savored the hot liquid swirling through his mouth, spices warming his tongue and his nose.

“If you ever see me tying the knot again it sure as Hell won't be with someone who needs me to be anything other than me.”

Spock closed his eyes, and swallowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This morning I inexplicably woke when my Kirk's alarm went off at five (usually I sleep through it...) So I got up and made him scrambled eggs for breakfast~! The baby didn't want to sleep in her crib last night so she snuggled in between us. When I woke my Kirk and I were holding hands above our heads and our ankles were intertwined, our baby was passed out in the middle with a hand on each of us. It's really funny because when we first got married neither one of us could sleep while we were touching...


	10. Nothing Good Ever Comes of a Shopping Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Kirk was maybe kind of sort of cursed when he turned down Janice Rand During a strange combination of 'Spin the Bottle' and 'Seven Minutes in Heaven'. Every relationship since has ended just after he kisses their lips. Jim has lost 2 women he truly loved, Miramanee and Christine, as well as 5 or 6 other less serious girlfriends. Chapter 10 takes place approximately 4 months after Christine breaks up with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Kirk is taking the baby for a walk because she was driving me bananas and I kept calling her a whiny cookie...

Jim Kirk was in the office with Pavel Chekov one Wednesday afternoon that seemed to have no end. The printer kept spewing sheets of half inked proposals. After taking the ink cartridge out and shaking it to get just a little bit more ink out, twice. Jim gave up and went upstairs to change his flip flops for some street shoes. 

“Mind the shop, will you? Chekov,” Jim said, checking once more to make sure he had the right cartridge numbers written down. 

“I should not have to, Mr. Kirk,” Chekov began a familiar complaint. “Most companies like yours do not have a store front, they work from home, have meetings in coffee shops -”

“You just want to sleep in,” Jim interrupted, “and Starbucks is going to take over the world if we let it.”

“And there are no independent coffee shops out there?”

“This is how we are different. We have a perfectly designed space that's all feng shui-ed -”

“I could be doing this work from my own Russia -”

“We are the design team who'll meet after hours to accommodate a client -”

“That's because you, Mr. Kirk, live above your 'feng shui-ed' office and you are a workaholic.”

“Exactly.” Jim said, “This is a part of who we are. Real designers, putting our best foot toward the world while showing our quirky and eclectic flaws.”

“I am not quirky, Mr. Kirk. I am Russian. We do not have ourselves flaws. We are brilliant.”

“Yes we are Mr. Chekov!”

“I was talking about -”

“And I need to take my brilliant ass down to Staples and pick up some more ink for the printer.” Jim clapped one hand on Chekov's shoulder then headed out the door. 

Jim traipsed down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets thinking about nothing in particular. It was three blocks to the Staples, where he asked an associate to help him procure the right cartridges. Nothing remarkable happened until, while traversing the same sidewalk back toward the office he stepped directly into an opening door. 

“Jim!”

He looked up, a bit dazed, rubbing his forehead. He blinked a few times, “Christine.” He smiled.

“Oh my gosh Jim. Guess what?” Christine was bouncing up and down, an infectious grin on her face. She shyly lifted her left and palm facing toward herself. 

A moment later the large sparkly diamond registered in Jim's brain. He thought he managed a smile but he wasn't entirely sure. 

“I'm engaged! I was going to call you tonight actually because I told you that I wanted you to meet my boyfriend and now.” Christine looked behind her and grabbed a man's wrist. “This is my fiancee, Dr. Leonard McCoy.”

“Tall, dark, and handsome, like you said,” Jim spoke softly, then offered his hand to the man, “Nice to meet you, I'm Jim Kirk.”

“I've heard a lot about you,” the man offered.

“And I you.” Jim nodded, “I'm impressed you manage to snare this one.” He gestured at Chris. 

“To be honest, I've got no idea why she puts up with me and my dusty old bones. I work too much and love her too little.”

'Dusty old bones,' Jim thought, catching the phrase and turning it about in his mind. 

“Don't be ridiculous,” Chris chimed in. “Let's go back in, have another coffee, catch up?” She turned her hopeful gaze on Jim, then her fiancee.

“As long as your friend's not busy,” Bones conceded. 

“I think the printer can wait,” Jim replied, holding up his Stapel's bag, and he let Christine pull him into the coffee shop so that he could get to know her old Bones. 

An hour later when he collapsed in his own office chair, ink cartridges tossed off to the side, he finally let his guard down. He tucked his knees up to his chest and ran his fingers through his hair closing his eyes. Chekov hadn't looked up from his work, but then, he never did, the young genius pretended not to notice things until someone else brought them up. 

“I ran into Christine and her fiancee.”

“I thought it was taking you a long time to find ink but then again,” Chekov responded.

“They want me to come to their wedding.”

“When is it taking place?”

“One month.”

Chekov looked up then, Jim could tell by the squeak of his chair and the sudden lack of mouse clicks.

“This is the Christine whom you were seeing a few months ago?”

“It was about four months but yeah, one and the same.” 

“It's very interesting,” Chekov commented. “All of your ex-girlfriends seem to be getting married so soon after you break up.” 

Jim heard Chekov's natural rustling and typing resume. He squeezed his eyes as tightly as he could, then opened them and rolled back his shoulders. Chekov was right, his exs did tend to get married, all of them that Jim was aware of actually. 

“Odd,” he muttered. Then got up to revive the printer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim Kirk only just misses seeing Spock for the first time in this chapter. Can you guess who's coffee shop he was dragged into? <3 
> 
> Next Chapter will be back to Spock and should be longer... I'm sorry this one is so short. I think I'm too anxious to write right now. I'll try and update soon, but know that it will definitely be within a week.


	11. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock is an introverted young man who found himself swept up into a friendship with Dr. Leonard McCoy. A friendship that became essential to him after the death of his mother. He is lonely, but has learned after attempting a romantic relationship with Nyota, that there are portions of his personality he cannot compromise, even for the sake of those he cares for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has proved to be the most challenging for me to write.

Spock was manning the counter at Esspress Yourself; Coffee and Tea wearing his average stoic expression. None of his regulars had responded any differently to him throughout his shift and so he felt he was hiding his anxiety about Len's move adequately. While it was not forever, the most painful thought at the moment was goodbye. 

Spock took a tea towel and began wiping down the stainless steel counters. The smooth shiny surface stared back at him. Then the bell on the door rang softly and he was at the register, taking another order. Typically he had three additional people working with him for the evening shift but his employees seemed to have all been struck with influenza simultaneously; he'd had one call out, and sent two very loyal, very miserable looking beverage making enthusiasts home, with hot tea to go. 

The dining room held only three customers anyway. Including the young man who leaned against the counter waiting on the americano Spock was currently pulling shots for. At an hour before closing, with rain dripping in an unsatisfying fashion Spock surmised that the majority of people would rather be at home in their beds. He too, would rather be at home in his bed. Only home was not home any longer and this Friday evening was the last that Len would fall asleep in the room next to Spock. Tomorrow would be the last morning he'd grumble curses at the coffee maker, and scowl at Spock while wearing pajamas. 

The difference between hiding what one thinks at official government functions or in front of the news media, and hiding what one thinks in front of customers who simply see one as a means to their preferred beverage was drastic. Spock did not feel as if each interaction he participated in was analyzed by anyone other than himself. Over time he had relaxed some into his position as owner and barista of, “Esspress Yourself.” The irony of the name was not lost on him, but, he thought that on average over the last several years he had expressed himself more than his entire childhood combined.

This new found freedom did not extend to his best friend's impending marriage. He found himself retreating to long forgotten coping mechanisms, even meditation did not seem to help. Spock wished nothing but the best for Len. He had purchased service for eight and the serving plates of the Waterford Ballet Ribbon that Christine wanted but had not put on the registry in favor of something more practical. He'd planned and conducted a most excruciating bachelor party down town last weekend, that Len had followed with the most pleasant evening at home they had enjoyed in several months. With only a month between Len's decision to ask Christine and their wedding date, there hadn't been enough time to turn the event into a 'dog and pony show' according to Len, but he felt the overwhelming responsibility of best man haunting his every step. 

Spock handed over the americano and the gentleman took an appreciative sip before heading back out into the drizzle. 

Len knew what he was doing. Christine appeared to be everything that Jocelyn was not; and even Joanna loved her instantly. Although Joanna loved Spock instantly so that may not be the most impressive vote of confidence. 

Another customer left. The bell falsely happy against the wet. Spock shivered. He would close early if at any one point there were no customers in the store. He took his tea towel and vinegar cleaning solution out to the dining room and began to wipe down tables. 

The bell rang again. Startling against the softly playing classic rock station in the background. Spock looked up to see Len, shaking a wet umbrella outside before stepping in. He grinned. “Don't tell me I missed the rapture,” he commented.

“As you are still present on this earth, that is unlikely, Leonard,” Spock responded, too tired and worn to notice that he'd betrayed himself with the comment.

“You OK?”

Spock blinked, and looked up from the table he'd been cleaning. How had Leonard noticed? “Certainly,” he said with a smile. Len looked strong and healthy. Christine was good for him. 

“Damn liar,” Len muttered under his breath. “I thought maybe you could keep me company while you work. My last night and all.”

“What might I get for you?” Spock headed back behind the counter with his cleaning supplies. He'd finished all the tables except for the one occupied by the customer with her open laptop and empty small drip coffee. 

Len followed him and perched on a stool out of the way in a corner. “A latte, with honey.”

The thing about goodbye was that you wanted to hang onto every second, to reach outside of yourself, to remember every moment. Spock felt the irrational desire to lock his friend away forever. He finished the drink and handed it over. Len closed his eyes while he sipped. 

“How is this different than the night before Jocelyn?” Spock found himself asking.

“I was alone then,” Leonard said, leaning back against the wall in the corner, legs dangling off the stool. “My buddies all came by to get me drunk. They managed to have quite the party, but I didn't want to be hung over at my wedding.” He paused. 

Spock was on the floor, taking inventory of the gallons of milk in the refrigerator.

“It's different to be leaving our apartment. It's the first place I really established for myself, especially after Jocelyn. But I'm not as scared. I know marriage takes work, on both sides and I'm ready to meet the challenge, rather than naive and nervous.” He lapsed into silence. 

The broke college student began to gather up her things. Spock reached for a medium cup on instinct, filled it with hot drip coffee and a similarly excessive amount of sugar as the girl's first cup. He stirred it, then handed it to Len. “Give it to her,” he spoke softly, “it's dank outside.”

Leonard threw back his head and laughed. He took the drink and stood, then walked out to the dining room. The girl was winding up the cord to her laptop. He set it on the table in front of her. “It's on the house, Darling” he said, “in honor of my wedding tomorrow.”

She grinned at him. “Congratulations.”

Spock wondered if he'd ever establish camaraderie so simply. 

After she left they cut the lights and locked the doors before sneaking out the back and heading home it the petulant rain. They stayed up, talking in their living room until Len drifted off to sleep around 0130, stretched out on his recliner. 

Spock closed his eyes, and did not sleep. He weaved his fingertips through the openings in the knitted throw. It was a steely sort of gray blue, a gift from his mother. He didn't think about the man snoring in the chair next to him, or the tuxedo hanging in his closet, a gold band tucked into the breast pocket. He thought about how he liked the color blue, even if it wasn't his favorite, and how their apartment seemed to be growing silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At times I feel have have not given the background of this story enough weight. Other times I feel I have dwelt on it entirely too much. My original story idea included only chapter one, and chapter six, (as backstory) and then chapter twelve (the next chapter, as the beginning of the story). Now that I am arriving at the beginning of my idea I wonder if I have chosen to emphasize the right things or if I should have shown more of Jim and Spock's past. I have an extraordinary ability to second guess everything in life until I am so anxious I turn my mind off completely. I would love a comment from you, dear readers, letting me know if I've hit the mark as far as back story. If you're ready to see them meet next chapter. If there is anything you feel has been missing so far. Do not think that this insecurity precludes an ability to take constructive criticism for if there is any way to improve this bit of fiction I would like to implement it. Thank you so much for your time, for reading my chapters each week, and for all of your lovely comments. You are all amazing.


	12. Wedding Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Kirk has had miserable luck in love. He always seems to meet people just the moment before they find their true love. And today he has to attend the wedding of his last serious girlfriend, Christine, only five months after they broke up. He's mostly over her, but he's still feeling pretty lonely.
> 
> Grayson Spock Edwards grew up in the spotlight; he was the son of a military man turned politician. An injury led him to a friendship with Dr. Leonard McCoy and his mother's death was the catalyst for the two to become apartment-mates. Today Spock is letting his best friend and emotional anchor go to hopefully experience the love of his life as selflessly as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm determined, to write the entire wedding in one chapter. This should be the longest chapter I've written in this story by far. Part of the reason my chapters have been short is because I only get 10 minutes here, 20 minutes there, when the baby is not needing my attention in some way. She is 7 months old now... and she thinks sitting in my lap while I type is either completely boring, or a good time to bang on the keyboard. 
> 
> This is the beginning of my story~! And yes I'm twelve chapters in but I am so very excited~! Thank you all for reading and encouraging me along the way. I've never written anything this long before, and I haven't even started the main part of the story yet, Oh my word. In school I studied creative writing, but since we all had to read and critique each other's work, fellow students would get mad and passive aggressive with you if you wrote more than a 5,000 word story. As a reader though, I tend to prefer stories that are around 40,000 words or more. I suppose I might get there since the heart of the story is beginning 14,024 words in. =)
> 
> Oh Gracious, I hope this meeting lives up to your expectations~!

One moment Jim Kirk slept, face smashed into his pillow, a fitful peace; the next he woke with a slightly uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth. He had a date for the wedding, a gorgeous red head willing to pretend to be enamored with him. Perhaps actually enamored with him. Jim would sort it out afterward. It was childish, he knew, but he didn't have the nerve to return the R. S. V. P. without checking plus one, which left him scrambling last night when his second cousin backed out. To be honest, she did sound miserably sick on the phone, and apparently her boss hadn't let her work any of her shift that evening, so he couldn't even feel annoyed with her. 

Jim stumbled out of bed and blearily opened his curtains. The day was bright and clear, The sun burning off any of the lingering damp from the night before. He checked his clock-radio, 8:07. The wedding was at 10. He planned to pick Gaila up at 9 which meant he should have been in the shower 30 minutes ago. He stopped mid stretch and headed for the bathroom. 

After turning on the shower to heat up, he traipsed back to the kitchen to start the coffee. He rubbed his eyes a bit, stared at the left over Papa John's, then decided he wasn't hungry and headed back to the shower, his bare feet whisking against the hard wood floors. The shower had come up to temperature so he stepped out of his pajamas and into the warm spray letting it massage his scalp and neck. 

He was only 25, which really wasn't that old when you thought about it. Jim was pretty sure the average age for getting married was 30 or something. Come to think of it Christine was a bit older than him, 29. He was sure Bones had a few years on him as well. Still, arguing with himself about numbers didn't encourage him to feel any less undesirable. Take that double negative. There's nothing like taking a fake date to a wedding to make you feel like you're back in middle school and you'll never stop squeaking at random intervals while you talk. 

Jim quickly shampooed his hair and soaped the rest of himself up with body wash. He rinsed, stepped out, and dried off. Thank goodness he'd gone ahead and cleaned his tux after the last event so it was pristine and waiting for him in the closet. 13 minutes later at 8:42 he'd dressed himself, combed his hair, and was stepping down the stairs to his apartment. He set a brisk pace around the building to where he parked his car, and in only moments he was on his way to Gaila's. 

He turned up his radio, lost himself in the twang of guitars and sultry violins. It was an old song, Whiskey Lullaby. Jim could remember his mom cutting the radio off when it came on. It was beautiful, painful, and Jim wanted so badly to have someone to love. He could understand a person getting so hung up on someone they wasted their life entirely. Not that he was going to do it. The song just pulled at that lonely ache in his chest. 

He pulled up outside Gaila's apartment, making sure to cut the radio off. He didn't like to have to evaluate his music choices with passengers. Gaila was waiting for him, in a soft pink dress that made her long red hair seem more exotic than usual. She stepped into the car, and Jim wasn't sure how she managed to balance in those sky high heels, but he didn't detect so much as a wobble. 

“Hey Jimmy, so what's our cover story?” she asked, sliding the seat-belt around herself and clicking it into place. 

“Cover story?”

“Am I supposed to save face and replace your girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend?” she raised her eyebrows and smirked at him.

“There's no girlfriend. Well...”

“Go on. You have to know I'm awfully curious, and you're awfully cute. Are you on the market again?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Gaila, you know we can never date for real.”

“Why not?”

Jim could hear the pout infused into her tone. “You dated Hikaru, remember? I don't steal my buddy's ex-girlfriends.”

“Hmmph.” She slouched back into her seat. “It's not like he wants me any more. We should give it a go.”

Jim ignored her muttering. “Thank you for saving me.”

“So why do you need a date? You never did say.”

Jim ran his hands over the steering wheel, and kept his eyes darting over the road as he replied. “My ex-girlfriend Christine is getting married, so I responded plus one for myself and my cousin, Kristen, but she's got the flu or something. I just really don't want to go to this alone.”

“So I'll be Kristen, and totally in love with you.”

“Uh, I don't know that I need all that.”

“Nonsense. I can be the perfect girlfriend.” 

Jim looked up from the road to catch Gaila grinning at him, a wild gleam in her eye. “You're enjoying this a little too much.”

“No such thing Love,” she replied. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jim muttered under his breath. 

They spent the rest of the drive bantering back and forth. It almost but not quite took his mind off things. It wasn't really that far to the church and soon Jim and Gaila found themselves seated on a beautiful wooden pew on the bride's side in a quaint little Methodist church. 

The carpet was an almost gold that had probably been new in the sixties. There were hand quilted banners along the wood paneled walls. A large stain glass window of an ornate cross presided over the pulpit. 

They listened to a pianist play some form of classical arrangements. Occasionally Jim would think he had begun to recognize a song only for it to turn into something else. After a few minutes he gave up and allowed himself to enjoy the music based on its beauty rather than his ability to anticipate the next musical phrase.

The Minister, Groom, and groomsmen entered from a little side door, lining up in their matching suits and Bones was Bones, but his best man. Jim flipped his program over to look at who was who again. G. Spock Edwards. Mr. Edwards had the perfect stern and aloof face for standing up in front of a crowd. Jim wished his own poker face was half as good. 

He was interrupted from his musings by a change in music from the pianist. The bridesmaids had begun coming down the aisle, He watched each of them, in their pale purple dresses. At one point Gaila leaned close to whisper into his ear.

“I am so glad I wore pink. I almost chose a purple dress.”

After the matron-of-honor an adorable little girl around five or six wearing a dress wider than she was tall walked primly down the aisle beaming and tossing rose petals from her basket. When she got to the alter she stopped directly in front of Bones who crouched down and hugged her close. The child received a kiss on her pretty lips and then nuzzled her head into his shirt front. She turned abruptly and sat on the very first pew right in front of the man.

The pianist changed tunes again and everyone felt the swell of excitement at the familiar chords announcing the Bride. Jim stood and turned with the congregation. He felt himself tearing up and so he shut himself off, focusing on the feel of the program in his hand, the nap of the gold carpet under his dress shoes. He thought about the website he was currently designing, and about the fact that he hadn't called his mom in more than a week.

When the ceremony was over and everyone was shuffling out to the reception, all he heard were murmured echos of how beautiful the event had been. Due to the early hour of the day, the time the wedding party spent taking photos was a mimosa hour, or just champagne for those who didn't care for orange juice. Gaila chatted with him while they milled about with the other guests. 

The fellowship hall was decorated beautifully in that popular rustic charm sort of theme. Gaila hung on his arm with her left and and clutched her stemware with her right as they weaved through the other guests to their seats almost at the top of the room near the sweetheart table. Gaila placed her wrap on the back of her chair then leaned into Jim to say she would return and left him to his own devices. 

He sighed. Gaila's presence did nothing to combat the loneliness that Jim felt crawling all over his skin. Even so, he was glad to see how in love Christine and Bones looked with each other. He could honestly say he didn't want her for himself anymore, he was just tired of every new opportunity being dashed.

Gaila returned to his side, her lipstick rimmed glass refilled. Jim took his first sip, letting the sharp tang cause his mouth to tense. 

“Now Jimmy,” Gaila said under her breath, “I'm going to need you to follow my lead.”

Jim turned to her, puzzled. 

“We're going to prove to her that you've moved on.”

Jim winced internally at Gaila's triumphant tone. “That isn't completely-”

“Don't be silly.”

Then, the D.J. was announcing the wedding party, and the whole room erupted in cheers. Gaila set her drink down and gently took Jim's from him as well and placed it on the table. She leaned in close, but instead of speaking she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him to herself.

She was kissing him, just like that, in a room full of 150 people or more. Jim was almost too shocked to do anything about it. He certainly didn't want to reject her in front of all these people. He felt her whole body pressed against him and he instinctively took a half a step back. 

Gaila pulled away. “Jimmy?” she asked, as if he was the strange one, not wanting to be kissed by his back up emergency date in front of the guests at his ex-girlfriend's wedding. “Oh, I'm sorry baby, got lipstick all over you,” she fussed, running her thumb over his bottom lip. She smirked at him, then reached for her glass and drank it down. “I'm going to get a re-fill.” She smiled at him. 

There was a buffet for lunch. People got food, and beer. They sat, and talked while eating. Some still mingled wherever they wished despite the seating arrangements. Jim found himself inexplicably flushing when he became aware that he would be sitting next to the best man. 

“Where is, your date?” Spock was leaning forward to project his voice over the music from the D.J. thumping in the background.

“Oh, who knows, probably off making eyes at someone. She's an incorrigible flirt.”

“You seemed quite taken with her.”

“What? oh.” Jim blushed. “That was just, Christine, you know. I used to date her and. You know what. Nevermind.” 

Jim cut a piece of his chicken and ate it absentmindedly as he watched Chris making the rounds, maneuvering her big white dress around all the wooden folding chairs. He cast about for something to say. “So, They sat me next to the best man?”

“Christine assured Len that you were an excellent conversationalist. I believe she intended for you to, 'draw me out of my shell'.”

“I don't know about that. You've got tall, dark, and handsome covered; maybe mysterious should be your thing?” Jim took another sip from his mimosa, he thought he could see the beginnings of a smile on the other man's face. 

Christine made her way over to their table, Bones hanging onto her hand, raising his beer to friends behind them. “Jim,” she called, smiling. “Thank you for coming to my wedding!”

“I wouldn't miss it.”

“Where's Kristen? I haven't met her yet.”

“She's actually sick.” Jim looked down at the table. There was really no use in pretending Gaila was Kristen. There was no use in pretending that Gaila was anything. 

“Oh? She seemed OK-”

Jim grinned at her sheepishly, “That was actually Gaila, who only agreed to be my date around ten o'clock last night, although we seem to be taking a break in our relationship.” He nodded over in her direction. She stood, almost shielded by a column, gorgeous red hair framing her face. A man stepped into view, brought his hand up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“Oh Jim,” Christine frowned. “I'm sorry.” She looked down at her dress, fiddled with the beading. “You'll find somebody I know it.”

“Better to have loved and lost.”

“I can't wait to see you when you're actually in love Jim. You'll be incandescent.”

“Like a certain someone who happens to be wearing a white dress right now.” Jim flirted.

Christine laughed. The sun streaming in through the windows caught her blonde hair, causing it to glow. “I'll see you around Jim,” she said as Bones pulled her off in the direction of another table.

Jim returned to his meal. He cocked his head. “Are you vegetarian?” he asked Spock.

“Indeed.”

“Why is that?” 

“I simply do not like the idea of eating an animal's flesh.”

Jim looked down at his own plate.

“It does not offend me to see you eat meat, however.” Spock added.

Jim inclined his head and cut off another bite of his chicken. They ate in silence for a bit. Jim tried to engage the women across from him at the table in conversation, but either the volume of the music precluded reasonable communication at such a distance, or they really were not interested. He and Spock spoke some more, about the weather, and the prevalence of illness at that point in time. 

Jim looked up when he heard the tell tale ring of silverware on stemware. Bones was standing, his champagne glass raised, “Everyone,” he said in a booming southern drawl. “I'd like to thank y'all for coming to celebrate my wedding.”

“Hear hear,” called a happy sounding voice from the back of the room.

Jim laughed along with everyone else and looked over at his dinner companion, who projected the essence of cool, calm, and collected, not a hair out of place. 

“And now that I have everybody's attention,” Bones continued, calling Jim's eyes back to the sweetheart table, “I'm going to hand the mic over to my best man.”

Spock stood, picked up his glass of champagne, and slid around the back of Jim's chair gracefully. Jim was fully aware of the man's presence gliding past. He closed his eyes briefly, and then Spock was front and center accepting the microphone. 

“Dr. Leonard McCoy,” Spock began, “is warmth itself, with a somewhat abrasive outer layer; and when I think of him marrying his dear Christine, I can't help but think of my own loss.” Spock turned away from the room and nodded to the couple. “People say when you marry someone that you also marry their best friend. It is a popular notion among those of us who are left behind; a way to pull the band-aid off slowly. I am under no such delusions. You, Leonard have found a lovely wife,” Spock said directly to the groom, “and if you are not already, you will grow to become the best of friends, sharing every aspect of life together in a way that I cannot be a part of any longer. And please know that I would not, even if I could, for that would decrease the value of what you have found.”

Spock turned back to the room as a whole. “Len is the type of man to throw himself into any situation he sees as less than ideal regardless of whether it is required of him, regardless, of whether he's even wanted.”

There were a few titters throughout the room. Jim guessed they were from people who'd been on the receiving end of unwanted attention from Bones.

“He has saved me in more ways than one. I know that Christine will stand with him through this heroism, for I have happily discovered that it is her nature as well and in this respect they are certainly soul-mates. Leonard has always been and will always be the man who gives way too much of himself and too much of his heart to those around him while covering it up with a prickly personality; and I know of no better woman to help him through life than Christine.”

Spock raised his glass. “Please join me in toasting the Bride and Groom,” he said then turned back to the sweetheart table. “I wish you both the purest of happiness, the security of unconditional love, and the amusement of shared adventures. Christine, Len,” he said nodding to both of them, then he took a long sip of champagne. 

Jim drank also, letting the bubbles tickle his nose and the slightly dry wine fill is mouth, rolling over his tongue. 

“Good job,” he whispered when Spock slid back into his seat while the matron-of-honor told some anecdote about line dancing with Christine while they were in college.

Spock nodded in acknowledgment.

Soon Bones had the microphone again. He toasted Christine and then Joanna who hollered back, “I love you too Daddy!” Not a face in the room could help but smile at her excitement. After Bones picked up Joanna and swung her around in a big hug he handed over the mic to his bride.

“I can't imagine being any happier than I am right now,” she started.

“Wait 'til tonight, Sweetheart,” a voice interjected, followed by catcalls scattered around the decorated hall. 

Christine raised her eyebrows, feigning offense. “Ahem.” She smiled. “I want to tell you a story,” she said, her voice soft and low in the microphone. “Two days before I met this dear, dear husband of mine, I broke up with the man who had been my boyfriend.” Christine looked away from Bones' face and bit her lip. 

Jim shut his eyes tight rather than meet her gaze. Her words kept coming.

“He was, and still is a good man. We simply were not right for each other; but without him I never would have met Leonard. And he graciously agreed to come celebrate my marriage today.”

Jim opened his eyes only to stare right into Christine's kind countenance.

“I know it's a little unorthodox, but I'd like to propose a toast, to James Kirk.” She raised her glass to him. “Thank you, Jim, for being my lucky charm.”

People around them raised and then drank from their glasses, but Jim was only peripherally aware of it. His eyes tracked Christine's small sip, and he watched her swallow. When she lowered her glass he sent her a little half smile. 

“So, You're that Jim?” The question came from a girl across the table from Jim who had been studiously ignoring him and chatting with her girlfriends all afternoon.

“What Jim?” he asked.

“You know, Jim the l-” she paused, “dentist.”

“No, I'm a web designer.”

“Ah.” She ducked back to the companions she'd been favoring and he saw some fervent whispering going on. 

“What type of web design do you do?”

Jim blinked, and looked back at Spock. He smiled, not having expected the question then began to tentatively wade into describing his field, ready to ditch if Spock's eyes started to glaze over. They stayed attentive, if a little distant and Jim found himself wanting to talk about more than just his work. He knew he was liable to make a fool of himself. Once the first dance had been dispensed with he asked if any of the ladies at his table would like to dance. (Gaila was no-where to be found) They all seemed surprisingly eager. So he led a blonde away from the table, he couldn't remember her name, and he promised to return for the others. 

They sent the Bride and Groom off at 2:00 to start their honeymoon, raining birdseed on them outside the church. As she passed him Christine pressed her bouquet into Jim's hands. It's your turn for luck, she said, and grinned. Bones swooped her up and then leaned her down into a deep dip, kissing her extravagantly. Then he loaded her safely into his care and they drove away.

Everyone was dispersing to their cars when Gaila trotted up to Jim breathless. “Jimmy, Marc offered me a ride home. Is that alright? Will you be OK?”

Jim huffed in laughter. “Go. Have fun,” he said and he watched her skip off for a moment before looking around to see if Spock had left already. He saw other members of the bridal party heading back into the church and he followed. He craned his head around too eager to be concerned about appearing casual, and there he was, breaking down tables. Jim set out toward him, slowing the closer he got until Spock looked up and met his gaze.

Jim reached in his pocket, pulled out his wallet and got one of his business cards out. He flipped it over and quickly wrote his cell on the back, then held it out to the other man. “If you maybe want to get together sometime,” he said, “I'm up all hours so umm.” he blinked, then took a breath. “You could call if you want. Anyway. Bye.” He waved and then backed away a step or two before he turned around and fled. Could he have been any more of a moron? He was going to get to his car and turn the music up as loud as was safe or maybe a little louder and put the top down and try to forget about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an aside. I personally tend to decide things about myself and then go for it. I decided to try being a vegetarian for 3 months and then didn't eat meat for 3 years... (I had to start eating meat again for medical reasons although I think about going back.) I decided to become a Trekkie. My Kirk teases me about this mercilessly. I was feeling a little stale in the Sherlock fandom and so I did research on fandoms in general and chose to watch and learn all things TOS because of the great fan base that already exists. Y'all are amazing. The art, both written and visual, in this fandom is magnificent.
> 
> Most recently, as of this morning, I've decided to learn to work on our cars. My Kirk works 55 hours a week on average so that I can stay home and watch our little munchkin. Last week I added mowing the grass to my repertoire. Growing up in an extremely conservative family I buried my slight gender dysphoria under excessive femininity. So even though I've always found engines rather fascinating I've always labeled them as “boy stuff” and left well enough alone. Now we have a Chrysler making a funny noise and not enough money to take it to the shop, and my Kirk barely has time to himself as is, forget adding car work to the mix. Therefore the resident Trekkie of 207 Lane of Sir Gawaine is going to become a mechanic~!
> 
> Ano... and... it will be 10 days before I update chapter 13. Because there's this story contest that I'm entering and I'm going to write a new story for that. It's due on October 12th and I am going to write a rough draft before I work on chapter 13. But. I will write chapter 13 before I polish the new story and flesh it out and what not so you don't need to worry that I'll be MIA until after October 12th or anything like that.


	13. Yup, they live in Mid Town.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's two days after Jim's ex-girlfriend has gotten married and Jim is chugging along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the long wait. I hope you all enjoy this little chapter.

Chapter 13

Jim Kirk drinks his coffee Tuesday morning while leaning against the counter in his kitchen. Christine’s bouquet from the wedding drapes itself over the side of the mixing bowl Jim put it in. Some of the little flowers are starting to look a little wilted but the roses are still lovely. It’s beautiful, and touching that Chris would think of him on her own day but it serves as a reminder that he is single, it's not lost on him that were he in a successful relationship he would not have been given the flowers; that being said, it is good luck, right? Jim isn't sure if he believes in luck but if it does exist he could use some of the good kind. He drains the last of the coffee from is mug, then sets it in the sink and swings his bag up onto his shoulder before heading downstairs and next door. 

Sparring with Hikaru is therapeutic. He feels his body relax, and settle into proper posture the second he steps onto the mat. His bare feet sink into the cushiony surface. They work out in silence, and he revels in the sounds of their feet and breaths, the clang of weights in the corner. 

“Lunch?” Hikaru asked him as they toweled off later.

“Sure. What are you in the mood for?”

“Ah, I don’t know. Not a burger.”

“Not a burger it is.” Jim laughed and finished dressing. “Call me when Cupcake gets here. Things should be fairly slow for me today.”

“Will do.”

Chekov was at his desk when Jim arrived, reading a paper. Jim walked past him, a small smirk on his face. “So is this going to be the new thing, now that you have a key, you get here early and read the paper?” He asked.

“I do not know what you are implying Mr. Kirk,” Chekov replied. “I have always been early and the Mid Town News hardly constitutes as a paper. Now the Nezavisimaya Gazeta, that is a paper.”

“I don't understand why you read that drivel,” Jim says, tossing his gym bag onto the stairs that lead to his apartment and closing the door.

“You subscribe to it, Mr. Kirk.” Chekov doesn't look up from the article he's reading. 

“Eh, help out local business and what not.” Jim shrugs, “but it's nothing but a gossip column with recommendations on the best spots to spend your money.”

“It covers local politics as well, Mr. Kirk. However it is the gossip that is interesting. And I think you will be wanting to read this week's issue.”

“And why is that?”

Chekov shuffled back a page, shook the paper out, and then started reading aloud,

“It’s tell it all Tuesday and boy has Mid Town had a big weekend. We said goodbye to the sexiest of our eligible doctors. Don’t worry ladies, he’ll still be here to stare into the depths of your eyes, after he gets back from his honeymoon in Italy that is. This tragic whirlwind romance has its own silver lining; however, for a good luck charm has been discovered. Our very own Mid Town computer genius can help you find your true love. Sources say that one kiss from the charmingly quirky individual and the next man to ask you out is the one who’s meant to be. I don’t know about you but I think I might need someone to design me a website! In other news, you know who won’t be visiting to try and find her soul-mate? Mid Town’s pink jogger who, purportedly turned down all alcohol at the doctor’s wedding. She won’t be able to hide for long in those cute little jogging skirts!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I realize that I am the one here with the genius I.Q. Mr. Kirk but I’m thinking she was talking about you, as I have not been kissing people who end up married to other people.”

“It doesn’t happen all the time; and Bones and Chris aren’t going to Italy for their honeymoon either so we know how accurate her sources must be.”

“I’m not sure accuracy matters with this kind of thing, Mr. Kirk,” Chekov said. Then grinned and nodded triumphantly when the door opened and in stepped a tall blonde woman.

“May I speak to the proprietor?” She asked, and tossed her pretty hair over one shoulder.

“Mr Kirk, here is at your service, Ma’am,” Chekov said to the woman as he gestured toward Jim.

“It’s Miss, and thank you,” She replied.

Jim thought he might get eaten alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I met a new friend and she's perfectly lovely. I think I'm lucky to have met her, yeah? 
> 
> Thank you for having read this far~ I'm back in a writing grove and hope to update more soon~!


	14. Not hungry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... Spock used to be next door neighbors with Leonard McCoy who was also his retina surgeon. He moves in to Len's apartment after Amanda dies and he drops out of law school. Len has been his emotional anchor supporting him through depression as well as reminding him that's it's ok to be different. They do the manly version of bingeing on ice cream after Spock and Nyota break up. Two days ago Spock was best man at Len's wedding to Christine Chapel. He's not exactly in the best head space now... (Modern AU so Spock's not actually Vulcan.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So So So Soooo sorry this is crazy after I promised it. Hopefully you lovely people have not forgotten the story thus far~!

Spock continued lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling long after his alarm sounded. The day was too full, with too many errands to run, a middle shift at the shop, and laundry. He should have washed clothes yesterday. He held the comforter close to his chest, tried to think about its texture against his skin, and waited until the last possible moment to get out of bed before leaving it behind unmade while he dressed in yesterday’s dirty clothes. He didn’t eat breakfast and tried not to scold himself for it as he grabbed his keys, phone, and overstuffed wallet.

The stereo came blaring to life when Spock cranked his car to head in for work. He suddenly didn’t want to hear another note from Billy Joel, so he allowed his index finger to gently press the mute button. He felt the silence in his bones, and it was nice to not drown his own thoughts for once, except they turned, as they always did, to how easily he could steer the car off the road. He caressed his seat belt with one hand. He could take it off, there weren’t airbags in this Jeep; he wouldn’t leave anyone thinking that he meant it. He thought about how Len would miss him and ignored the voice that said his friend would be fine since he had a wife to take care of him. 

Work was unexceptional as its wont. Thoughts came more slowly than energy there and Spock was stronger inside the cozily familiar walls where everyone had a question for him. He could almost pretend to be normal. When he didn’t take a lunch no-one noticed and when he didn’t drink even half a cup from his pot of tea, well, no-one noticed that either. It wouldn’t be so bad if he got a headache from dehydration.

Eleven hours later found Spock home. The more he thought the word, “should” the more he couldn’t bring himself to try. He had been sitting on Len’s sofa in their apartment for two hours and twenty-seven minutes. He knew this because of the clock on the wall, softly ticking out the seconds, quietly judging him for his extraordinary departure from the rules. He should know better; now that Len was not there to pull him back outside of himself he must keep to the routine. 

The guilt was too much so he stared at the blank portion of beige wall where Len’s TV used to hang. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the dishes that had been piling up in the sink for the last three days and were emitting a strange odor. He couldn’t even bring himself to change positions when a dull ache took up residence in his lower back. He should have practiced his asanas and meditated by now. He should be making dinner. His clothes should be tumbling in the dryer instead of lying disrespectfully crumpled on the floor of his bedroom. 

Spock tore his gaze from the wall and set his eyes on the entry table he had brought when he moved it. It felt half empty, holding only his too full wallet. He remembered weeks when he’d first started living again, tracking down Len’s things and placing them on the table, until eventually his friend stopped and emptied his pockets on the way in the door. 

“Get up,” Spock said aloud, then started at the sound of his own voice. 

He forced himself to his wallet, that was stuffed to capacity with receipts. If he established some sense of normal he’d be able to- Breath? Sleep? The entrance table was small. If he tried starting in the kitchen he would give up before he had cleaned the first dish. 

He carried the wallet over to the garbage and recycling receptacles, and then sorted through its contents, apathetically watching old receipts flutter into the bin. He lined up his bills large to small and faced them the same direction. He paused at a business card with, “Jim,” and ten digits scrawled across the back.

He could call. He closes his eyes and remembers some fifty hours ago, blue eyes, blond hair, a masked expression like his own. Jim said he could call any time. Perhaps he too would like to anchor himself to something during this change?

Spock wanted to ask him for a date. Before that thought fully forms in his mind he remembers the kiss and thinks of Ny. He wouldn’t be compatible with the man regardless of his exceptional conversation skills. Additionally Spock wasn’t sure if he could even manage a date in his own shop right now.

He flipped the card over, oscillating between tossing it with the receipts and nestling it back in the leather folds. Jim Kirk was a web designer. Perhaps he could re-design Esspress Yourself’s website? 

He pushed all thoughts from his mind, retrieved his phone, then dialed the number. It rang, and Spock’s composure shattered. What was he doing? He looked at the clock. He should hang up. What if Jim was capable of a reverse phone look up? Of course Jim was capable of a reverse phone look up. Spock shook.

“This is Kirk.”

Spock took a deep breath and forced himself past the rapid pounding of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think~!
> 
> Again I am sorry for the delay... hopefully the summary was enough to jog your memory?
> 
> I plan continue writing an hour or so a day. I think I have a schedule worked out~! =) So the next Chapter should be up around Tuesday. 
> 
> <3
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's commented/subscribed/bookmarked/given kudos. You are all wonderful~!
> 
> Thank you especially to my Mary. XXXX
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed.


	15. Is it a date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Kirk has been cursed so everyone he kisses finds their soulmate and leaves him lonely~~ He's been recently asked out for a date with... Well... you'll see. =)
> 
> Spock is trying to figure out life all alone in the apartment now that Len has gotten married and moved out... Did he really dial Jim's number on a whim???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh My Word! This has been a LONG time in coming... I haven't updated since last December which is miserable of me! I am so sorry!
> 
> This Chapter is dedicated to my dear friend Lance (who has not been reading this but is invaluable when it comes to making me write and helping me edit my poetry... We went to college together! I might send him a link to this. Maybe?) Lance made me biscuits for breakfast this morning and we spent five hours at his house drinking coffee and talking about life and love while the baby played in his potted plants... talk about dirt everywhere! He puts up with me asking questions like, "Are you ever not sure if a guy you like is gay or not and if so what do you do?" and he gives some of the best hugs on the planet!
> 
> Also to my Mary~ I thank God daily for you~!

Jim walked with Hikaru through the park after lunch, his mind slowly drifting from his friend to the half dead, oversaturated grass, and then to the confusing woman who had somehow walked out of his office with a date for that evening.

“…these flight lessons are really cool and I’m all set to go but they need another student for splitting the cost. It can take a lot to-”

“Do I look any different to you?” Jim glanced over at Hikaru, who huffed good-naturedly.

“Not that I can tell, but I’ll be honest I’m not looking that closely. What, ya get a haircut or something?”

“It’s just this girl asked me out this morning. It was, I dunno. Weird?”

“Hey, you’re not the worst looking guy I ever saw.” Hikaru nudged him with his elbow.

Jim laughed. They came to the edge of the park and started their way back to their respective store fronts, long strides matching each other when Jim heard his name. 

“Jimmy!”

He turned to find an exuberant face framed with bouncing red curls dashing in his direction, and he braced himself to catch her.

“Hi,” he offered inadequately and Gaila laughed in his arms before launching herself at Hikaru.

“Guess what!”

Before either of them had the opportunity to ask, Gaila extended a graceful hand to put a solitaire diamond ring on display.

“I’ve met the most wonderful man in the world!” she declares, her eyes brimming with mirth. “You are a good luck charm, Jimmy! I never would’ve run into Marc if I hadn’t helped you make Christine wildly jealous!”

“I-” Jim stumbled, then made sure to return her smile with as much intensity as he could muster. “I am so happy for you. You have my best wishes.”

“Oh Jimmy, Hiki, we’ll catch up soon. I’ve got to pack ‘cause we’re driving to South Carolina in forty-five minutes.” She leaned in and lowered her voice slightly, “You don’t have to wait to get a wedding license there!” She burst into another fit of giggles, kissed each of their cheeks, and then ran off again.

Jim stared at Hikaru who returned the gaze with equal intensity before allowing laughter to overtake him. “I hate you,” Jim muttered.

“I dunno, on second thought you have a sort of magical glow about you,” Hikaru choked out through his laughter.

Jim turned and stalked back up the street toward his office.

“Jimmy!” Hikaru called, “don’t go!”

Jim heard him jog up to his side and then slow to match his strides again.

“Actually, I need a favor, Man.”

“Hmm?” Jim asked.

“Well I was wondering, since you’re such good luck and all, if you could do me?”

Jim reached out and punched him in the arm before they were both doubled over laughing in the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hikaru gasped, rubbing at his bicep.

Jim looked up at him, a sinister look crossing his face, “Oh honey, come here,” he said, and then puckered his lips.

Hikaru yelped as he began sprinting up the road. Jim chased him at an easy jog, grinning the whole time.

Later that evening Jim drove to pick up his date with the top down on his car, enjoying the way the cool breeze nipped at his face. He stretched a bit and caught his own eye in the rear view mirror. He could, Jim reflected to himself, be a snappy dresser if the occasion called for it, and Miss Carol Marcus had been an occasion. Jim still wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up with a date for that evening, but it wasn’t the strangest thing to happen that day and he wasn’t complaining. He’d put on his tightest jeans, best shoes, and a brand new button down shirt he had bought on a whim after parting ways with Hikaru. 

“Turn left in point two miles,” his GPS called out in her ever cheerful computer voice.

He flipped the radio from G105 to WCPE. A classy girl needed classy music, right? Breathe. Breathing is good. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. 

“Turn left. Your destination will be on the right.”

Jim had just started to try and read the house numbers when he spotted Carol standing on the curb with one hand on her hip and the other scrolling through her phone. 

“Am I late?” he asked as he pulled up.

She slid into the passenger seat. Her tight black dress rode up her thighs. “Oh no,” she tossed her blond hair.

Jim wondered if she knew that was hot. 

“My schedule’s just a little tighter than I expected.”

Jim’s eyebrows knitted together. “Uhhh.”

“So how does this work?”

“Well, I have reservations for seven.”

“Oh I couldn’t possibly,” she demurred.

“… I thought-”

“Couldn’t you just give me one of your lucky kisses? Or,” she ran her fingers along the neckline of her dress and bit her lip, “is it a bit more?” She leaned closer to him, then glanced at the back seat. “It’ll have to happen here though. My roommate has got friends over and Peter will be here in,” she looked at her phone, “twenty minutes.”

“I uh,” Jim began when his phone started to ring. He held up one finger and answered, “This is Kirk.”

“Hello, This is Spock. We met at Leonard and Christine’s wedding this past weekend.”

“Really? Oh my God!”

“I…”

“Which emergency room?”

“I assure you this is not an emergency.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Meet me?”

“Oh my- Three of your teeth? Hang on just a-” Jim pulled his phone away from his face and looked at Carol attempting to keep a look of abject horror on his face. “Carol, I’m so sorry but I have to,” he gestured toward his phone. “Do you mind?”

Seconds later she was back on the curb looking a bit shocked and Jim was speeding down the road. He brought the phone back to his ear. “Oh my God, Spock!”

“So you are cognizant of my identity.”

“You just saved me big time! That was the worst date of my life.”

“You’re out on a date. I would not wish to intrude. Please, have a pleasant evening.”

“No! Don’t hang up on me. What’re you up to?”

“N- Nothing at present.”

“You wanna maybe go get dinner?

“I…” 

His hesitation hung tangibly in the cool air whipping through Jim’s car and wanting to cut through it, Jim rambled on breathlessly. “Let me thank you for that masterful example of perfect timing, perhaps somewhere without a DJ? or have you already eaten?”

“I have not eaten today.” 

Spock’s voice was low and soft. Jim almost couldn’t hear it, but still he laughed. “You’re worse than me. So, Dinner? Where should I meet you? I had reservations at this French place but I’m suddenly not in the mood.”

There was another pause. Jim pressed his phone closer to his ear as if that would bring any minute noises into sharp relief.

“Torero’s? Only,” he paused again, “I- I cannot drive right now actually.”

“That’s no problem. I can pick you up, What’s your address?” Jim held his breath. If Spock told him he wouldn’t have to resort to his creepy computer stalking skills. Not that he was planning on stalking the guy. 

“I am at Midtown Green, off Pamlico.”

Jim whistled. “Swanky. I’m not far, I’ll be there in five or seven minutes.”

“I await your arrival.”

Jim grinned, his phone disconnected and he tossed it onto the passenger seat before letting out a whoop and punching his fist into the air. So maybe he almost got drained dry by a succubus. The best man- Spock, he corrected himself- called! He wouldn’t have called if he didn’t want to hang out. It wasn’t even a casual text. He flipped the radio back over to the pop station and started singing along with Justin Beiber’s “Love Yourself.”

 

***SPOCK POV***

Once at Toreros’ they were seated in a booth far enough away from the televisions that the soccer matches were not too tempting of a distraction. Spock embraced the familiar comfort of the atmosphere; Jim Kirk may be a new fixture, but Spock had caught the nod of the bar tender on their way in, and the muffled sounds of a match in process caused a pavlov relaxation in his frame. 

He already knew what he wanted, but opened his menu anyway. Thank goodness for this barrier between them; time built in to the beginning of dinner so that one might compose their thoughts and wonder about their date in peace. Jim seemed to be absorbed in his selection. Spock’s eyes traced his hair, eyelashes, and the bridge of his nose. His attempts to flirt in the car had been met positively but he still wasn’t sure. Was Jim even gay?

Their perusal of the menus and Spock’s own study of his dinner companion were interrupted by the arrival of Hannah bearing tortilla chips and salsa. 

Jim murmured his thanks, and then turned to Spock. “Would you like to get some queso?”

Spock shook his head. “I-” Perhaps he should not have agreed to dinner, even given the option to choose the local. 

Jim reached out and snagged a chip, dipped it in the salsa, and opened his mouth wide.

Spock blinked. He was not staring. 

Then Jim was smiling and munching. “You’re right,” he said around his mouthful, “the salsa here is fantastic.”

Spock took a deep breath. 

“What would you like to drink?” Hannah asked.

Spock looked up at her, “Water,” he said to her inquiring face, then looked down at the wooden table when she raised an eyebrow at him. 

“And for you sir?” Hannah turned toward Jim.

“What have you got on tap?” he asked.

She rattled off their options and Spock tuned them out. He focused on gently dragging his thumb back and forth across his jeans. He tried pulling himself out of his own mind just as she stepped away from the table and pushed himself to connect with the bright face in front of him. 

“Tell me about this date from which my impeccable timing rescued you,” he said, giving as much of a smile as he felt comfortable managing. 

The effort seemed to be enough encouragement for Jim. He launched into a fairly amusing anecdote about his mystifying encounter with the, “…Scary woman who exuded confidence like she had bought it on the black market. Seriously. I’m glad she wasn’t actually interested in me or I might never have made an escape.”

Spock inclined his head, his own form of a laugh. He ordered himself not to be disappointed. Between the red headed woman Jim had locked lips with at the wedding, and the confident minx of this evening’s earlier activities Spock’s shot at having found someone who might actually be interested in him as more than a- barista was dwindling.

Hannah came back, bearing a tray with Jim’s beer, Spocks water, and a margarita. “Drink together,” She said firmly as she set them on the table and slid the margarita in front of Spock.

Spock glared at her but she only tilted her head back and laughed.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked. 

“I’ll have the Pollo Loco,” Jim said, handing her his menu.

She turned to Spock.

“I’d like the quesadilla ranchera with rice and beans,” 

“No cheese?” She asked.

Spock nodded. Hannah jotted something down before dashing off, her dark ponytail swinging wildly behind her. 

Spock thought that soon there would be a point where he paused too long, unsure of what to say. This fascinating man would find him uninteresting. What would happen when Jim drained his beer? Would he just get up and leave? The view would be a consolation prize, his traitorous mind promised him. Spock took a hurried sip of his margarita and looked up to see Jim grinning at him. 

“So I guess you come here a lot?”

“Mondays, Thursdays, and when I wish to watch a specific match,” Spock admitted, and they found themselves conversing again until Hannah’s return with their food commanded their full attention. Spock closed his eyes after the first bite of hot mushrooms, onions, and tortilla filled his mouth. 

“So I thought you were just vegetarian,” Jim commented.

Spock’s eyes flew open and he reminded himself to hide his anxiety as he chewed the rest of the mouthful and swallowed. “Vegan actually, but I don’t care to preach to people.”

“You ate everything but the chicken at the wedding though?”

“Ah,” Spock inclined his head, “Len had the caterers use plant based products for everything aside from the chicken.”

“A perk of being the best man,” Jim joked. “I couldn’t even tell,” he added.

“Plants can be quite delicious,” Spock said with a straight face.

Jim snorted into a laugh. “So,” he said after taking a bite of his chicken, “In the spirit of full disclosure, I’m really glad you called even if it hadn’t interrupted the worst date of my life.”

“And why is that?” Spock’s eyes traced over the slight blush on Jim’s cheeks. He wasn’t sure if he could trust his mind not to play tricks on him. 

“I enjoyed talking with you at the wedding, even if it is uncomfortable to see your ex-girlfriend married off while you are yet single.” Jim gave a rueful shrug, took a sip from his beer, then asked, “So, pray tell, are you an ex-boyfriend of the groom?”

Spock thought his heart might stop, or maybe it was beating too fast. Was Jim asking archaically or sarcastically? Spock had not tried dating a man since before Nyota, he had not tried dating anyone at all after Nyota and this was… He took a deep breath and firmly instructed his mind to flirt. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he said softly.

Jim clutched at his chest, “You wound me, here I open up my life’s failures before your eyes and you imply I’m ungentlemanly!” A moment later he could no longer contain the laughter dancing in his eyes and it spilled out of his parted lips.

Spock was breathing again. This was going to kill him. He may as well ask, because he couldn’t take much more of it. “I am sorry, I do not mean to be impertinent but I really would like to know, are you gay?”

“I-” Jim started, then reached for his beer. “I dunno?” He took a long draught. “Sometimes, you see someone and it’s just… You feel it like an ache in the center of your rib cage and you worry that they won’t feel it too. You worry that they will see through you and laugh at the tightness of your chest or scoff at your constant awareness of their presence. And sometimes it’s not instant, it just grows,” He pauses, moves his fork across his plate but doesn’t eat anything. “If you were a girl.” He gives a little huff of laughter, then looks up right into Spock’s eyes. “I don’t’ really care about your Adam’s apple or the strength in your shoulders, you’re kinda beautiful, compelling really... Oh God, I’ve made an ass of myself.” He shifted in his seat and looked down at his food.

Spock traced the condensation on the side of his margarita glass with his index finger. “You are ‘kinda’ beautiful yourself,” Spock said, keeping his face as still as possible, “but don’t tell Jim, it might be embarrassing.” 

“I’ll try and keep the information to myself,” Jim responded with a wink. 

Spock was mostly certain he wouldn’t pass out or throw up before desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I am no good at keeping my promises regarding how quickly I'm going to write this. It's harder now that they're interacting because I'm thinking about he's thinking this and he's thinking that but they both aren't aware of what the other is thinking and it's just COMPLICATED! But oh well. I will finish this as long as I don't die first. I promise. What did you guys think of this part?
> 
> <3


	16. Chekov Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has just left a maybe sortof kindof last minute date with Spock when he comes home to find~
> 
> (I know it's been forever~ This is the story where Jim is cursed so that everyone he kisses finds someone else and Spock is struggling with depression... Modern day AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry that It's taking me so long to update~ Thank you to everyone for reading this story! xoxox

Jim let himself into his storefront slowly, all of his nerves humming. He floated through the sleeping computers alternately grinning and biting his lip. It’s not like he knew if the evening meant anything, but he had a nice time. It had even looked, for a moment, like Spock might invite him up to see his apartment, and even though he hadn’t, their handshake had lasted several moments too long and- 

Jim opened the door to the stairs. He didn’t want to screw this one up. He wanted to be on the same page before he got overly invested and started building freaking castles out of lingering handshakes. Still, “Kinda beautiful,” he whispered, flushing red and revelingin the thrill that raced through his torso at the thought. 

He reached the top of the stairs, and tensed. There was someone sitting on the couch in the soft dark of his apartment. “Who’s there?” he demanded, flipping the nearest light switch. 

“Mister Kirk,” Chekov said, turning to face him. 

Jim relaxed. “What are you doing here?”

“You gave me a key.”

“To lock up or come in early or if there was an emergency,” Jim responded, a confused look still plastered on his face. 

“Well, perhaps this being not a situation of life or death means it does not qualify as an emergency?” Chekov looked down at his lap and seemed to rest in silence. 

Jim waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, “I’m sorry,” he said, the confusion as evident as before. “Explain again differently?”

Chekov looked up and gave him a sharp nod at the code they used when met with a language or cultural barrier. “If there is a chance the rumors are true,” he started, “I just don’t want to be alone, Mister Kirk.”

“But-“

“Would you deny me love, Mister Kirk?” His young face looked so earnest. 

“Are you not a scientist? This idea of magic kisses is ridiculous, Chekov.”

“You will not be knowing that for certain until you have tested it.”

Jim shook his head.

“You could make believe it’s not me, I could be your Christine or this new one.”

Jim’s face fell. “No,” he said gently as the full force of Chekov’s disappointment hit him like a wave. “No, Pavel Chekov, you are no-one but yourself.” He took a deliberate step forward. “And I swear I’m not any kind of good luck charm.” He was standing in front of Chekov now, looking down at the man’s curly hair. He reached down and drew the young face up. “I would not deny you, Pavel,” he murmured before bringing their lips together. 

Chekov tasted of mint as if he’d come prepared to be kissed. Jim climbed carefully onto the couch, knees surrounding Chekov’s thighs, hands in his curling hair, lips and tongues joined. He pulled back when Chekov whimpered only to be drawn into another biting kiss by insistent hands. Jim ran his own hands over Chekov’s shoulders and broke away to kiss along his jaw and up to his ear. 

“You are worth loving,” Jim said between kisses. “You’re brilliant.” Jim kissed his lips once more. “You put up with working for me,” he said and then laughed. 

 

“I think you talk too much,” Chekov complained.

“If you say so,” Jim replied before nipping at his lips again. “And that,” he continued before pressing his lips to Chekov’s forehead, “is that.” 

Jim climbed off his lap and stood, caught somewhere between embarrassment and affection. 

“You are sure?” Chekov asked looking down at the floor. 

“If I were a lucky charm, that would have to be it,” Jim confessed. 

Chekov stood and reached out to him, fingers just brushing the front of his shirt. “You know for certain?” he asked again. 

“I may have gone farther with you than with anyone I’ve ever kissed before,” Jim admitted.

“Mister Kirk,” Chekov’s shocked voice turned to laughter. “I may be only sewenteen but even I am not a virgin.”

“Shut up,” Jim said, pushing him, and then, after a beat, “You’re 17?”

Chekov rolled his eyes. “You are my boss. Did you even read my papers?”

“I did but- When will you be legal?”

“Are you serious Mister Kirk?”

Jim just nodded.

“My birthday is next month,” He huffed and swung his backpack from off the floor next to the coffee table and over his shoulder.

“You’re a little young to be worried about finding love don’t you think?” 

“I do not know Mister Kirk,” Chekov said over his shoulder, “maybe I’m too young for my masters in comp sci, perhaps I should go find a job at the McDonald’s.”

“Alright, alright,” Jim said, following him to the top of the stairs.

Chekov stopped abruptly, then turned around. “Thank you,” he said before turning back. “You’re never too young to worry about being an old maid.” Then he slipped down the stairs and through the office. 

Jim watched him go, suddenly fighting the urge to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts~! <3


	17. Kissing Booth?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the story that is set in a modern day universe where Jim Kirk has been cursed so that everyone he kisses finds their true love shortly after and he is left lonely to pick up the pieces of his bruised heart. Spock and Bones are best friends, and Spock struggles with depression. It has been 9 long months since I updated, and for that I apologize! Two chapters ago we got to eaves drop on the maybe a date impromptu dinner between Jim and Spock, and last chapter we see Jim sharing the luck he doesn't believe he has with his amusingly insubordinate employee, Pavel Chekov.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So funny story... My baby-girl is now a 2 year old toddler and I have a 3 month old baby-boy... Life has a way of happening to you and then you blink and realize you haven't worked on a project in almost a year! This story is not abandoned, I promise. I dedicate this chapter to my Mary. I never knew that writing a story would bring me such a gorgeous and wonderful friend. I am so blessed to have you in my life. Xoxox

The phone started to ring again and Jim slammed his fingers down on his keyboard in frustration. “If it's a woman I'm not here,” he muttered darkly to Chekov before stalking to the office coffee pot. 

“So if it's a man you're available? Should I be calling midtown news so they can be adding an update in next week's paper?”

“Oh Shut it.”

Chekov grinned and then pulled the ringing phone off the hook. “Thank you for calling Kirk Enterprises, how may I be assisting you today?” He leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes at Jim. “I'm sorry Ms Chrystal, he has just stepped out. Now, are you calling about a current or future project?” 

Jim picked up a coffee mug only to find the pot empty.

“Umm I am not sure, Ma'am. Would you like for me to take down your number?”

Jim glared darkly at the empty carafe, then reached for the coffee grounds to make a new pot, only their were none.

“Have a nice day,” Chekov said.

Jim heard the click of the phone settling into the receiver. “Chekov,” he called.

“Yes, Mr. Kirk?”

“What happened to all the coffee?”

“We drank it, Mr. Kirk.”

Jim sighed. “I give up.” 

“What was that?”

“I give up,” Jim shouted.

“I am not sure they heard you next door, Sir.” 

Jim waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “Mind the store, Chekov.” He jogged up the stairs to his apartment and grabbed his wallet. He patted his pocket to check for his phone and then was back down the stairs in a flash.

“If anyone other than my mom calls-” Jim packed a laptop in his briefcase.

“I know, Mr. Kirk, you are at the doctor seeing about treating a suspicious rash on your-”

“Chekov! I share my alleged good luck with you and this is what I have to put up with?”

“Ah, well, maybe I just give them the number for the pizza place down the street.”

“Sure, Kid. I'll be back sometime this century,” Jim said, laughing as he ducked out the door.

He thought about stopping in on Hikaru but there hadn't been much sympathy on that front. Jim felt more alien than ever turning down all these advances. It would blow over eventually, he just didn't like that he flinched anytime the phone rang.

He followed his feet not bothering with his surroundings. Sunshine dappled the concrete sidewalk , and after a while he found himself trying to step on the little bits of light. A childish game like chasing ones own shadow. 

He was headed for coffee he supposed, or maybe just for a room in which no-one was looking for him. He could do some work on his laptop but he couldn't work as quickly as on the desktops he had wired in at the office. Perhaps he'd become nocturnal, or stop having a business phone. Then he'd only have to fend off the ones who showed up to the office in person or appeared in his living-room. Ugh. Jim stopped in front of Espress Yourself; Coffee and Tea.

“Jim!”

He winced, then gripped the strap on his briefcase and turned to see a sophisticated looking brunette with big eyes and a straight nose. 

“Jim Kirk?”

The question hovered in the air around them and if it weren't for the odd mix of trust and confidence in those big eyes Jim would've lied, shrugged her off with a joke about getting that a lot lately, but she was looking at him through her lashes while squaring her shoulders and almost without thought. He assented. “Can I help you, Miss?”

“Edith, Edith Keeler.”

He grasped her hand for a moment.

“I work with the rescue mission downtown.”

Jim looked into her open face, his brows drawn together. 

“We're planning a fund-raising event next month and I wondered if you would be willing to help out?

“I- I mean, sure.” Jim felt as if he was playing verbal hopscotch. “Kirk Enterprises enjoys supporting other local businesses and charities. Are you looking for event sponsors? 

“Ah, no, Mr. Kirk, though that would not be unwelcome. I'd hoped that with your new found celebrity you'd be open to working a kissing booth at the event. We've projected that we could draw quite a lot of funding with this tactic.”

Jim thought his eyebrows might jump off his face. “A kissing booth? Do people actually do that? I thought it was just a,” he glanced around for something, anything, “movie trope?” he suggested.

“We looked into it, and it's not considered prostitution in the state of NC.”

“Pros- uhh-” Jim looked down at his shoes, then back up at Edith, “When is this 'event'?”

“Three Saturdays from now.”

Jim pulled out his phone, “That's the uhh, 12th?”

“It is.”

“I'm sorry I have a,” he paused, “a funeral, very dear friend, out of town you see and-” he looked about as if he'd find the rest of his sentence lying somewhere on the sidewalk. 

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Edith offered.

“What? Oh! Right I should-” he gestured toward the door of the coffee shop and finally, escaped through it leaving the dappled sunlight behind him.

It had only been nine in the morning when Jim had fled his office space and it just occurred to him upon stepping into the coffee shop that lots of people go to get coffee in the morning. Not to sit and chat, like the last time he'd been in this shop, but because they need it to function properly. It's armor against cheery faces, deadlines, and the consequences of marathoning your latest obsession on Netflix when you should be sleeping. Jim stepped back against the window next to the door and looked around. The dining room was sufficiently eclectic for an independent coffee shop. Jim didn't really remember the hard wood floors or artfully arranged tables but then again, he only really remembered Christine's smile, Bones' gruff affection and the bitter taste of a slightly burnt dark roast. He hadn't complained; he honestly hadn't been sure if it was actually the coffee. He shook himself out of his daze and fell into line. 

The menu was blue chalk on a wall-to-wall blackboard behind the counter with artistic asides in white. Jim spent more time gazing obliquely around the room than deciding what he'd like to purchase and suddenly the path to the register became clear and he was standing across the counter from-

“Spock!”

“What might I get for you, Jim?”

“I uhh,” Jim broke off and just looked at Spock's steady countenance. “Surprise me,” he managed, all thought of the menu deserting his mind.

“Give me a moment and I will bring it to your table.”

“What do I?” Jim waved his wallet awkwardly.

“Do not concern yourself.”

“I uh, Ok.” he turned away from the counter, then looked back to catch another glimpse of dark hair and broad shoulders before retreating to the dining area. 

Jim slid into a seat, dropped his bag on the floor next to him, and slumped over the table. He was such an idiot. Since when could he not even from a complete sentence? He let his forehead bang against the tabletop. He'd planned to be cool when he called Spock and asked him to hang out again. How had he not known that Spock worked in a coffee shop? Then again, they hadn't talked about Spock's work, just Jim's and now Jim was just confused. 

He lifted his head in time to spot Spock approaching gracefully with a wooden tray in his hands. Spock set the tray with what looked like a teapot and various small cups on the table in front of Jim and then sat in the chair across from him. 

“What's this?” Jim asked eloquently.

“Me surprising you.”

“You've done that more than once today,” Jim said quietly still gazing at Spock. “Wait. How do you live in the apartments off Pamlico?”

Spock raised one eyebrow. “I did used to share with Len, though that was primarily for the purpose of companionship, the shop does fairly well for itself.”

Jim thought he may have seen a hint of a smile. He tried swallowing but his throat was dry. “The shop,” he said, “It's yours.” 

Spock inclined his head.

“I'm sorry, apparently I can't talk today.” Jim looked down at the table, then back up at Spock. “So what sort of surprise is this?”

“Fireball,” Spock answered, “It's my favorite.

Jim took a closer look at the spread between them. There was a heavy looking burnt-orange pot and five little differently shaped cups without handles, all the same rich color.

“Do you take cream or sugar in your tea?”

“Umm Both?” Jim really didn't know. He watched as Spock's deft fingers spooned sugar and poured milk into a little cup. He removed the lid of the teapot and lifted a mesh basket full of soaked leaves and spices. He replaced the lid, and then held the pot gently by its handle to pour the amber colored tea into the little cup.

“Please try some,” he said, fixing a second cup with half the sugar and none of the milk.

Jim brought the cup to his lips with both hands, it was heavy, and it radiated heat. “These are beautiful,” he remarked, because they were in a sort of earthy, understated way.

“Thank you, It was my mother's” Spock replied. 

Jim sipped. Sweet and spicy assaulted his senses. “This tastes like candy.”

That was definitely a smile Jim saw on Spock's face. They fell into silence and Jim, afraid to lose the camaraderie of Tuesday evening blurted out, “I enjoyed Toreros the other night,” then wished he'd said anything else.

“As did I,” Spock said with a completely straight face.

Jim felt a muscle inside his chest loosen and he grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fan fiction. Thank you so very much for reading this far. =) Do let me know if you'd like to read more, as well as if there is anything I could change to make the story better. (I'm totally up for constructive criticism and for editing along the way.) I've a sort of outline written and of course a plot because I stole that from the movie (with modifications of course.) I plan to update a least once a week. (I'm somewhat bored and I've got time on my hands so that should be manageable.)


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